Fifty Shades of Post-Partum
by Helena Mira
Summary: After the birth of baby Phoebe, Ana feels a malaise that she can't shake. After a near tragedy, Christian realizes that if he doesn't take drastic action, a real tragedy could occur. Can he save Ana from this terrible illness? This story follows on the family on their journey to the next phase of their lives.
1. Prologue: Drowning

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Caveat to the reader: Unlike my previous stories, each chapter of this one will be told from a single POV. This is NOT, I repeat, NOT a cheating story. It is a story of despair and redemption. I do not believe that this story is not out of line with Ana's character in the original book. Remember that when she had her "consultation" with Flynn in **_**Darker, **_**he was worried because she thought so little of herself. I am using that as a foreshadowing of this possible scenario. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it.**

**Prologue: Drowning**

I stand above her and look at her sweet, little face, with its rosebud mouth and long lashes on her cheeks. Her little chest rises and falls as she breathes. The bassinet is simple in furnishings. Of course, Christian read about the dangers of pillows and quilts suffocating infants. She sleeps beside my bed so that I can reach out when she cries. So tiny, so fragile, she is just so different than her older brother.

However, I don't always get to her at the first little squawk, like I did with Teddy. He was easier. Because she is smaller, she needs to nurse more often. She sucks contentedly, but not greedily as Teddy did. He always wanted to eat as much as he could hold as quickly as he could get it. He still eats that way, like a horse, like his father.

"Fee-bee," he calls his baby sister, elongating the syllables of her name in his two-year old baby voice. "Teddy love Fee-bee, Mommy. Teddy love Mommy. Teddy love Daddy."

Each night I listen to his simple prayers.

"God bless Fee-bee. God bless Mommy. God bless Daddy. God bless Soeee. God bless Tay-yer . . ."

He can't say "Taylor" properly yet, or "Sophie." The litany goes on. He is so proud that he remembers all the people that he wants God to bless. But Fee-bee is always first. When she was born, I was afraid that he would be jealous, but no, not my boy. His Daddy told him that sisters are a special gift from God to big brothers. It is the job of big brothers to watch over little sisters.

Teddy looked back at Christian solemnly and nodded. He absorbs every word out of his beloved Daddy's mouth like a little sponge. Take care of Mommy. Take care of Fee-bee. That's what good daddies and good sons and "brudders" do.

"Mommy, may I please have a brudder next?" he asked me as if I had a choice.

"Why do you want a brother, Teddy?"

"Need help with all this taking care of," he explains earnestly.

"But what if it were a sister?" I ask.

He wrinkles his face like his father. Oh, little Teddy, you're so much like your father! He shakes his head intently.

"Too hard," he replies. "Teddy need help."

_Breathe, Anastasia, breathe. _I hear those words in my head as I return to now from my reverie. When I first met Christian, he would say that when I was overwhelmed in his presence. Then, he spoke the words as we practiced for childbirth, and then as I was in labor for hours with Teddy. But no matter how much, I breathed, I couldn't push him out. I failed. Dr. Greene insisted on a Caesarian. We almost lost him, my little Blip, now my little son.

Then Phoebe's birth. No breathing involved. It was a scheduled Caesarian. She was smaller, more delicate. I could have pushed her out, but Dr. Greene told me that the Caesarian was less traumatic. Teddy was sturdy, a big baby. It is only now, three months later that Phoebe has just caught up to his birth weight.

"Don't worry, Ana," Christian soothed me. "Little girls are supposed to be smaller. Don't you remember? She screamed bloody murder when I cut the cord. It's the lungs that matter. That's what Dr. Greene told us."

But I still fret and worry. I spend almost all my time with my little girl, watching her, holding her, feeding her. Grace gave me a baby sling so that I could more easily hold her wherever I go. Phoebe likes the sling. Very often, she will fall asleep as I walk around. Not that I get much sleep. At night, I would rather watch her than sleep myself. In fact, these days, Christian is getting more sleep than me.

I have lost almost all interest in my job, my career. I can't even look at a manuscript. Finally, my PA Hannah stopped sending them home. In the past three months, I have completely lost track of what is happening at Grey Publishing, and worse than that, I don't care. Christian and I have hired a solid team to run it. They don't need me.

I gaze at my little angel, my sweet little angel. She does not deserve a mother like me. She deserves a happy mother, a mother who picks her up at the first cry. I find it more difficult to. It takes me a while to shake myself out of my ennui. I am not asleep, but now I just can't move sometimes. I feel tired and listless. At night, sometimes Christian gets to her first. He sleeps lightly.

He thinks that my exhaustion is because of the two children. He worries because my libido seems to have taken off for Antarctica and never returned. I know that he has needs and appetites, but I feel inadequate to fulfill them. My son is bursting with energy and wants me to chase after him when he runs in the meadow like I used to. But running takes too much effort. I prefer sit, with little Phoebe in my arms while he runs around.

He will turn and frown back at me.

"Fee-bee run too?"

But I shake my head. Phoebe and I don't run. These days we can barely walk. Phoebe doesn't know the difference anyway. She is contented just to snuggle in close. So Teddy runs and leaps without us. Joyful, as he relishes this perfect, little haven that we have created here. Everyone, it seems, is happy but me.

One day, Christian was so worried that he took me to see Flynn. His diagnosis was classic baby blues. He suggested a better diet, more exercise, talk therapy. I don't eat much. I mostly eat because Gail is always at my side, encouraging me for Phoebe's sake. Phoebe refuses both the bottle and cereal. She only wants to nurse, to have "mommy milk," as Teddy calls it. I refuse to see Bastille. Christian doesn't force the issue. I don't want to talk.

I prefer to huddle alone and have conversations in my head all the time. Everyone else is busy with their lives. My life is my children, but I am failing even at that. Gail is helping me all the time. I don't know how she gets her own work done. But the house is immaculate, meals are on time, and all of our needs are met. She should have been a mother herself. She mothers me. She frets over me. But I can't even stand that any more. It only adds to my feelings of inadequacy.

_Sleep, little angel, sleep._ I brush my daughter's cheek lightly with my fingers tips as she rests comfortably on the silky sheet. She is really a very beautiful child. She has the same blue eyes and copper-colored hair as her brother.

I look over at Christian sleeping on his side of the bed. He has the same colored hair, but grey eyes, intense grey eyes. It used to be that if I got out of bed, he would be looking for me. But I have been getting out of bed so frequently with the kids that he no longer notices.

I walk into the nursery where Teddy is sleeping in his crib. He's two and a half now, but he's so large he's almost ready for a big boy bed. He's a solid sleeper, he always has been. He's terribly secure, no blankie or teddy bear or other security object for him. I brush his cheek and then I walk out.

I walk down the hall and down the steps to the living room where I can look out the glass wall at the Sound. It's an exquisite view. Tonight there is a full moon. It creates a path on the water, a silver white path. It is enticing. It seems to lead me from my living room towards Olympic National Park.

Unconsciously, I open the door and silently slip out onto the terrace. It is cold out and I am only dressed in my nightgown, nothing on my feet. The stones of the terrace are cold, but I hardly notice. The grass is soft and a little damp and I walk towards the water's edge. It's a long walk, towards the beautiful silver path.

Then I think that I hear someone calling my name, but I don't turn around, I run. I run towards the beautiful silver path made by the moonlight. I feel as if I could only reach the path it would lead me to the moon, the lovely glowing moon. _Goodnight, Moon _is Teddy's favorite book. We read it every night. He would have me read it two or three times.

I feel the cold water on my feet as I step into the silver path. And then it is up to my knees and my waist. I can no longer run, but I push ahead, deeper and deeper. I am now a part of the path. I hear voices calling my name from behind me, but behind me is no longer relevant. There is only what is before me. Don't dwell on the past, Flynn always says, look towards the future. So I look and move forward.

I find myself at greater peace than I been in months. As I look around me, I can see that I am directly in the silver moonlight, the peaceful, peaceful silver moonlight. I am free and they are free of me. They deserve more, better from their wife and mother. I have never been good enough.

Suddenly, I sink and the water surrounds me and fills my mouth, nose, and eyes. Yes, this is good. I belong to the moonlight. _Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, moon._


	2. Rescue

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 1: Rescue**

"What the hell!" shouts Sawyer. "Taylor, get your ass over here and look at this!"

I move quickly to the monitor that he is indicating. It is Mrs. Grey leaving terrace and walking across the lawn. But she doesn't look normal. She looks like she's sleeping walking. _Holy shit! She's heading for the water!_

"Shit! Where is she going?" I yell.

"How the hell should I know?" he asks. "Holy fuck! She _is_ heading towards the water! This is so not her! Something is completely fucked up!"

We both jump up and bolt out the back door. There she is front of us, walking intently towards the edge of the water. From the back, it is impossible to see the expression on her face. Shit! What the hell is she doing?

"Mrs. Grey! Mrs. Grey! Ana!" I yell. "For God's sake!"

But she doesn't answer. I don't even know if she can hear us or not. It's almost like she is in some kind of a trance. She must know that we are behind her. Why doesn't she look back? Instead, she picks up speed and begins to run. Within seconds she is plunging into the ice cold water of Puget Sound.

"I'll get her!" shouts Sawyer, who has training in water rescue. "One of us needs to stay dry and warm. Call 911!"

I've already hit the speed dial. As Sawyer splashes into the water, I rapidly explain the situation and that we need an ambulance fast. Her head has been submerged for about ten seconds, but Sawyer is a fast swimmer and within that time, he has lifted her back out and holding her in his arms staggers out. Despite the fact that she is small and slender, her soaked clothing weighs her down.

As he emerges from the water, he turns her over so that he can pound her back. She is coughing up water, but hardly struggling. Now, I have Gail on the line.

"Sawyer just pulled Ana out of the sound," I say quickly.

"Holy shit!" she whispers.

"Blankets!" I say tersely. "Down towards the water. We'll probably meet you out on the lawn. Sawyer just turned her over. She's coughing up water, but appears to be unconscious."

Sawyer is now freezing also. He doesn't care about himself. his only concern is saving this poor woman. I take off my jacket and wrap it around Mrs. Grey before taking her in my warm, dry arms to carry her to the house.

"Breathing? Yes?" I ask.

"Barely," he replies through chattering teeth. "She sputtered and coughed water from her mouth when I put her down on the shore. And she moaned. But she's freezing. We need to warm her up."

We're halfway up the lawn when Gail runs to us with an armload of blankets. She immediately tosses one to Sawyer and spreads one on the ground. Pulling my wet coat off of her, I lay Mrs. Grey in the blanket. I am soaking also, so Gail hands me a blanket and takes Ana in her own dry, warm arms in an attempt to leach some of her own warmth into the her. I quickly bundle the last blanket around them to contain the warmth.

At the sound of sirens, Sawyer jumps up to show them where we are. Before she left the house, Gail had pulled the emergency switch so that the EMTs could get through the locked gate. I can see the ambulance and police car pulling up in the drive. And another figure is running from the house. It's Grey. The sirens must have woken him up. He must have seen the movement from the window. Shit! This is not going to be pretty.

He gets to us first. He takes his wet, freezing wife away from Gail and holds her for a second before racing the rest of the way up the lawn to meet the paramedics with the gurney. He lays her down and softly strikes her hair. Then, he stands back.

He knows the drill. Three years ago, she lay unconscious on the ground after Hyde had beaten and kicked her into oblivion. He knows that the best thing that he can do is stand back and let the professionals do their job. He is entirely focused on them.

"Gail," I say. "Go back into the house and stay with the children. Someone needs to be there for them."

We don't have a nanny. Mrs. Grey wouldn't hear of it and Gail has always been there to jump in and help with Teddy and Phoebe. During the busy times, we have brought in extra household staff for laundry, cooking, and cleaning, but the only one that Mrs. Grey would ever trust with the babies is Gail.

"Sawyer," I continue. "Get some dry clothes on now. I want you in the house as close protection. And call Ryan and tell him to get his ass in here right away to monitor the CCTV."

We always have at least two security people on duty now, sometimes three. I plan to follow the ambulance to the hospital. I will need to give the details to the doctor on call and be there to keep Grey in line. I am sure that Mr. Grey will ride in the ambulance.

"Vitals are good," says one of the paramedics. "It looks like you got to her quickly. Good job trying to warm her. We'll change out the wet blankets for dry ones. The inside of the bus is warm."

"Let's get an IV going," says the other one. "Just a saline drip with electrolytes to try and rouse her."

"What the hell happened?" the first one asks.

For the first time, Grey looks at me. He knows shit, so he lets me do the talking.

"I'm Taylor, head of security here. My partner and I were watching the CCTV cameras," I explain."When he saw Mrs. Grey exiting the back of the house and going across the terrace. Something looked very wrong. She was only wearing the night gown, no robe, no shoes. We ran out onto the lawn calling for her and chased her down the water."

"Did she fully submerge in the water?" asks the second guy.

I nod.

"Yes," I reply. "When Sawyer, my partner, pulled her out, he got her to cough out the water in her lungs. She was just barely breathing and freezing cold. My wife brought our blankets and we took turns holding her to warm her up. Then you came."

"Would you say that she intentionally entered the water?" he asks.

"I look at Grey.

"Yes."

"Do you believe that she was trying to drown herself?"

"No!" Grey chokes and puts his face in his hands.

This is no time for sentiment. My whole sense is that Ana's life is at stake.

"Yes," I reply stoically. "Mrs. Grey had her second child three months ago. Since then she hasn't been the same."

"Hasn't been the same," repeats the first one. "Would you say she was depressed?"

Grey looks at me intently.

"Yes," I answer.

For a minute, I think that Grey is going to take a swing at me. But I stare him down. Gail has been telling him. Dr. Trevelyan has been telling him the sane thing. Mrs. Grey needs help. But he has refused to listen. He has been in denial. Him and his damn baby books! This is not normal baby blues. After overreacting to every little symptom she displayed during her first pregnancy, he chooses to ignore this. As we reach the ambulance he finally speaks.

"Taylor, call Flynn and my mother," he says flatly. "Have them meet us there. And when Ryan gets here, come down yourself."

I watch as he climbs into the ambulance behind the paramedics and sits beside his wife. He picks up her hand, but I doubt that she is aware of it. Something is terribly wrong. She should be awake by now. As I watch the ambulance pull away, a policewoman taps me on the shoulder.

"This is a suicide attempt," she says quietly. "I need to make a report."

I sigh and take her back to my office. I'm not going anywhere until Ryan gets here anyway. First I make the calls to Dr. Trevelyan and Flynn. Neither is too surprised and each promises to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. As I recount what I know of the last three months, I realize that she has been slipping farther and farther away from us. In the last week or so, she had stopped trying to hide it.

But I also know that there are many shades of suicide attempts. My suspicion, in fact me greatest hope, is that this is a cry for help. This woman is supposed to have the perfect life. She is wealthy as all get out. She runs a successful business. Her husband adores her. She had two beautiful children. But she isn't happy.

The policewoman looks at me sympathetically.

"I will need to speak with your wife also," she says kindly. "It sounds as though she is closer to her than anyone at the moment. They do spend a lot of time together, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," I nod. "Gail thinks of her as the daughter that she always wanted."

"I can see that your relationship with the Greys is very close," she replies, sympathy creeping into her voice. "More close than the usual employer-employee. I am no shrink, but this sounds like post-Partum psychosis. It is chemically based, although some women may be more prone to it than others."

"Do you think that she was really trying to . . . do away with herself?" I ask.

"I don't think that she really knew what she was doing," she answers uncomfortably. "Everything that you have told me indicates that she wasn't acting consciously. The doctors at the hospital will make a thorough examination and complete evaluation."

She wouldn't say any more, but went to go find Gail I sit in the office staring at the monitors, waiting for Ryan to arrive. If something in her mind was prompting her to take her own life, Ana did a very poor job of it. She walked right past the security cameras. We had plenty of time to follow and catch her before she really got hurt. If she truly wanted to end it all, there were smarter ways of doing it.

My one hope was that the policewoman was right. Ana didn't really know what she was doing when she waded into the water.


	3. Acknowledgement

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To the readers: Thank you for all of your feedback and support. This is a very delicate and sensitive topic, not to mention one that we don't like to talk about out loud. There are many forms of depression and often those that suffer from them feel silenced by a society that is uncomfortable with them. If I do not update as frequently as you like, **_**please **_**understand that I work very hard to make sure that my language and phraseology depict the emotions of the characters as authentically as possible. **

**The themes of this story are weighty and disturbing, but I feel that this is a topic that has been swept under the rug for too long. There will be twists and turns, setbacks and milestones achieved along the way. The road to recovery is long and sometimes treacherous, but it is possible to heal. And trust me, I **_**do **_**know what I am talking about.**

**Chapter 2: Acknowledgment**

Holy hell! Once again I am living out my worst nightmare. I hear the sirens before they reached the house. I look out the window and see the flashing red lights of the emergency vehicles. Shit! What is this? I look beside me. Ana is gone. I look in the bassinet. Phoebe is sleeping peacefully. I run into Teddy's room hoping . . . But no. She isn't there. Teddy is sound asleep.

_Shit! Where is she? _I am afraid to shout because I do not want to wake the babies. I throw on my jeans and a shirt and run out the back and down the lawn towards the darkened figures that I can see moving about, approximately halfway up from the beach.

The full moon is so bright they don't need flashlights to see. I draw closer and can make out four figures, one of them prone. And in that silvery moonlight I see them, but my eyes focused instantly on Ana. She lies in Gail's arms, as Gail clings to her fiercely, rocking her.

Sawyer looks at me from where he is bent over, breathing heavily, and says hoarsely, "Breathing."

Then I notice that they are all wet or damp and shivering. Sawyer and Taylor are dripping, especially Sawyer. Ana is soaked to the skin but cloaked in heavy blankets. Gail looks up at me with tears in her eyes and offers her to me. Looking back I can see the lights of the EMTs coming down the lawn from the house. I grab Ana from Gail's arms and rush back up the lawn. I have never run so fast or so hard in my life. But I can feel her shallow breath on my cheek as I hold her close. Ana is alive.

When I reach them, I lay her down on the gurney and run my finger down her cheek. There is no response. _Breathe, Anastasia, breathe. _And then I back away to let professionals do their job. Taylor comes up right behind me. As the policewoman fires off questions, he answers in his clear, composed way. It reminds me of why I hired him in the first place. He is always at his best under pressure, grace under fire.

I am vaguely aware of Gail rubbing my back soothingly and I can swear that I hear her murmuring "there, there." I am mute. I can't add anything to the story of what happened. I cannot really hear what Taylor is saying, only snatches. _She was walking down the lawn a if in a trance . . . Sawyer pulled her out of the water . . . saved her from drowning . . . We all worked to keep her warm . . . needed to avoid hypothermia._

_"Was her action intentional?"_

_"Yes."_

Taylor's voice is definitive as he looks at me, as if he is daring me to contradict him.

_"No!" _my heart screams.

_"Yes!" _my brain screams in counterpoint.

Did I know? Did I deny it? The thoughts are racing rapidly through my mind. How was Ana's mood recently? She was tired. She was sad. She had lost interest in everything but the children. Gail tried to tell me. So did Mother. I even took her to see Flynn, under protest of course.

She had bestirred herself to make the right impression. She had always been a little fearful of Flynn. I think that it was because he saw that beneath her newly discovered self-confidence, there were still some long-buried issues. She fooled him. She fooled me. Baby blues, he said, give it some time. Some women get it worse than others.

Watch her. Give her extra TLC. Make sure she eats (as if he had to tell me that). Get her up and exercising (fat chance, she didn't like to exercise on a good day). If she doesn't improve, bring her back to me. She didn't, not really, but she refused to go back. She was too tired . . . _Give me a few days, Christian. All I need is a little rest. It's nothing. Trust me._

She was too tired for sex. Unusual for her, but I figured it was hormones. At night, I held her in arms, like always, tightly, spooning around her. It was if both of our libidos were so in tune with one another that I didn't miss it either. Ana had taught me how to make love. The physical act was nothing without her. _It's only you, Anastasia. It's only ever been you._

And it still is and will always be. She needed rest. She needed time. I would give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed. Now, in the clarity of twenty-twenty hindsight, I can see that she didn't know what she needed.

But then things changed. She started to get up and watch the children in the middle of the night. It was always the children. There were times when she would fall asleep in the rocking chair by Teddy's crib. If I found her there, I would carry her back to bed and hold on tightly.

Or she would fall asleep in the chair in our room, the recliner, leaning back and holding Phoebe on her chest, snuggled in her arms. They looked so tranquil together, my two beautiful girls. I didn't have the heart to disturb them.

My Ana, my Ana. I have failed you. Like before, when you didn't trust me. You went to face Jack Hyde on your own. You didn't come to me. You thought that you couldn't tell me. Now I don't even know what you are facing. Why didn't you tell me? Why _couldn't _you tell me? You led me from the black night of my soul and into the light. Have you slipped away into the darkness?

_Call Flynn and my mother. Tell them to meet us at the hospital._

Flynn for Ana, my mother for me. Grace will help see me through this. I must be strong. The last time it was just for Ana. This time there are three of them. I vaguely hear Taylor telling Gail to stay with the children. Sawyer will be close protection. Ryan will man the CCTV. Once he got there Taylor will come to the hospital. That's why I hired him, grace under fire. He will always thinking of our safety, of their safety when I have to focus my attention elsewhere.

I always knew that could count on Taylor not to panic. He knows his shit. He didn't try to go out and play hero. He let the stronger swimmer, Sawyer pull her out of the water. He coordinated things with Gail. He kept her warm. He got help to her as quickly as possible. In the moment of crisis, Ana had been front and center, where she should be. Christ, what would we do without this man?

Just like the last time, I climb into the ambulance to ride with her. I take her hand. I try to will my strength and love into her.

_"Why won't she wake up?"_

_"Shock from the cold water? The doctors will know. Who is Flynn?"_

_"Shrink. Best in the world." _

Yeah, right, best fucking shrink in the world. But he missed this. Can I really blame him? I missed this too. She put on an acting job worthy of an Oscar. How did she do it? Do I even have to ask? For how many years did I throw up a front, the big, strong man totally in control? I could blaze into a meeting full of confidence and taking no prisoners, yet all the time I was thinking that I was nothing more than a fucked up piece of shit that didn't deserve to live.

Wake up, Ana. Wake up. She doesn't respond to my silent plea. She lies here cold, just like the last time, except for the bruises. There are no bruises. I take that back. There are bruises, bruises invisible to the eye, bruises of the heart and soul.

She is ghostly pale and thin as a rail. She has lost weight again. When did she last do that? When we broke up. When she didn't talk to me. When she didn't tell me what she needed. She was afraid. Is she afraid now? _Talk to me, Ana. _The ambulance is warm. I feel warm, too warm, but I don't care. Keep Ana warm.

Her cool hand has been warmed by my touch. Is it my imagination? Is there a hint of pink returning to her cheeks? Maybe she is blushing. Is she embarrassed? _I don't like to cause all this fuss and bother. _I know that you don't, Ana. That's why you didn't do this on purpose. I know you. You never want to draw attention to yourself. Intentional? No way. Unless . . . I can't finish the thought.

I can hear the wail of the external sirens as we fly through the night. It's easier for the ambulance to speed through the empty streets. It seems like a minute. It seems like forever. We are hurtling through the entrance to the hospital and to the ER. They are standing there waiting: doctors, nurses, orderlies. I don't know who else. _Mother. _I leap out of the ambulance to give them space to work. My mother envelops me in her soft embrace.

For all of those years, I kept her at arms' length. What a waste! For all of those years, she would have comforted me. She would have comforted me through my nightmares and through the never-ending pain. It hurt her not to touch me. If it wasn't for Ana . . . Would I have never have discovered the tender love that only a touch can demonstrate?

"There, there," she backs my back, as her arms reach around me.

The gurney passes us as it rushes into the ER. Flynn is waiting in the small, curtained area that has been allotted to us. He looks at me, and our eyes lock. He doesn't lie. This is serious. In some ways, it is worse than the hit she took from Hyde that gave her a concussion. It is more serious than when Blip, Teddy, was in distress before he was born.

Physically, she is alive. My mother is explaining that Sawyer's quick action and Taylor's quick thinking prevented asphyxia and hypothermia. I can hardly focus on her words. My eyes are on the bed. Ana's vital signs are normal. She should wake up, but doesn't seem to want to open her eyes.

"Christian," says Mother quietly, standing closely behind me. "Say something to her. See if you can coax her into responding."

I step forward and take her hand. I rub my thumb over her knuckles. I remember the first time that I held her hand. It was a day that I'll never forget.

"We were going for coffee that morning after the photo shoot in the Heathman. We went to the Portland Coffeehouse. Do you remember that Ana? Please remember it," I hear myself asking and I realize that I am now speaking my thoughts aloud.

"Do you remember, Ana?" I continue softly. "I had coffee. You had Twinings English Breakfast Tea. I had a blueberry muffin, but as usual, you wouldn't eat. You were nearly run down by a cyclist and I caught you. I held you in my arms. I'm here to catch you again, Anastasia. I'm always here, even when you are sleeping.

"Please, remember, Anastasia. Remember the week after. I saved you when you were sick and drunk at that bar. I caught you as you were hurling into the flowers. I took you to my hotel room and watched you sleep. I watched you sleep all night, beautiful girl. Remember what I told you later? It was even then that I loved you.

"I am here with you now. I will not leave until I can see your beautiful blue eyes looking back at me. It's just like the time that Hyde nearly killed. I wouldn't leave you then. And then I picked you up and carried you to the bathroom because you had to pee. You made the nurse take the catheter out. Do you remember that?"

I see a faint movement in her face. Her mouth is twitching. Is she grimacing, just a little? Then I feel her hand move slightly within mine. Is she squeezing it? She opens her eyes and looks back at me dully. They look half dead, but I don't care. They are open.

"Are you doing your best to remind me of the most humiliating moments of my life?" she asks, softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sweet Jesus! She speaks.

"I got you to respond just now, didn't I?" I ask playfully, hopefully.

She looks away and sighs.

"What am I doing here?" she says, her tone flat.

Flynn joins me at the bed, across on the other side. It is time for the doctor to get to work. But I am not letting go of Ana. I brought her back. I am not leaving her.

"Where do you think that you are, Ana?" he asks cautiously.

"Hospital," she replies indifferently, looking around. "Emergency room, I guess."

"Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up just now?" he asks gently.

She frowns.

"I was looking at Phoebe. She is such a little angel," she says. "Then I looked at Teddy, who looked somewhat less angelic."

"That's called the terrible twos," he says, to try and pick up on her lighter tone.

"Then I looked out the window and saw the lovely silver path," she continues. "It looked so beautiful and peaceful. It looked like it went all the way to the moon. So I followed it . . . But . . . the water was cold. The path didn't go to the moon, did it?"

"No," replies Flynn gently. "You walked into the sound and didn't stop."

"Oh, I was just . . ."

Her voice trails off and she looks away from us. It is difficult to figure out why. Is she embarrassed? Doesn't she remember? Why can't she tell us? Flynn looks at me and indicates that we should not press things at the moment. Okay, so now what?

"Can I go home?" she asks.

I turn to Mother who is shaking her head no. Flynn obviously concurs.

"It is late, Ana," he says. "We don't know how much water you may have swallowed or if you have fully recovered from the shock of the icy water. We will be keeping you overnight."

His statement is definitive.

"I feel fine," she says. "I want to go home. Christian?"

"I think that you should do as the doctor says," I state.

She looks bothered. Then something clicks in her head. She narrows her eyes.

"So Flynn," she says with an edge in her voice. "Since when have _you _started to work the graveyard shift in the ER?"

His face grows more serious and he looks at me.

"Flynn came because I asked him to, Ana," I answer honestly. "You really scared us tonight. Do you realize that if Sawyer and Taylor hadn't gotten to you so quickly, when they realized that you had walked into the water that you might have drowned? I don't think that you fully realize what you just did."

She stares off into space. I can see that she is struggling inside. She knows that something is wrong, but I suspect that she is afraid if it. Hell, I am afraid of it. Then she looks at us all.

"Phoebe needs me," she says. "She will be hungry soon. She may already be awake. Wait a minute! Who is with the children?"

This is the first time that she has broken out if her almost robotic affect so far this night.

"Gail is with the children," I say soothingly. "Everything with them is fine."

"No, it's not," she insists. "How will Phoebe eat? Grace?"

This is the first time that she has acknowledged that she sees Mother standing behind me. Of course she would call upon her since she is a pediatrician. But Mother doesn't give in.

"Phoebe will be okay, Ana," she replies calmly. "She's old enough to take a little cereal. And she can take a bottle. Remember? I made sure that you stocked a good formula."

Ana now acquires that stubborn look. She doesn't like the idea of bottle-feeding. When she went back to work after Teddy was born, she pumped breast milk for Gail to bottle feed him. He protested mightily in the beginning. But he was so hungry. He had to give in. As far as I know, Phoebe has never had a bottle.

"I want to go home," she insists. "I will sign myself out if I have to."

"No, you won't," replies Flynn evenly. "I am placing you on a 72 hour hold."

"But you said overnight," she shoots back.

"Now I am saying 72 hours," he says. "As your doctor, I am placing you here for observation. You do not remember how it came about that you had to be pulled out of Puget Sound in the middle of the night. I would not be upholding my oath as a physician if I did not keep you here."

"I suppose that you are sending me up to the psyche ward," she says sarcastically.

She has gone sad to angry in a very short span of time. Even I know that this is not good. However, while I agree that she should stay in the hospital for 72 hours, she is not going to the psyche ward.

"I want her to stay in a private room," I say firmly. "We can hire a private nurse to look after her. The cost is no option."

"I know that," replies Flynn. "I am agreeable to that. While she is here we can run some tests and evaluate her."

_"She _is here right in front of you," Ana interrupts. "Stop talking about me as if I am not here."

"Christian, why don't you two take this conversation over into the conference room," says Mother. "I will stay with Ana."

She looks at Ana warmly and gets a hint of a smile. I kiss Ana's forehead and leave with Flynn.

"Is it good or bad that she doesn't remember what happened?" I ask tensely.

"Bad," he replies seriously. "It means that she was not fully in control of herself. The story of the silver path is no doubt true. It is frightening that she didn't realize that she could drown herself, and even more frightening that she made no effort to save herself when she went under."

"How could her mood switch so quickly from apathetic to furious?" I then ask.

"She is in denial," he answers. "This burst of energy won't last. I predict that she will come down off of this adrenalin high pretty quickly and will return to her former depressed state. This is a complicated disease, Christian. And it is an illness, not a figment of her imagination. We need to do a complete psyche work up and develop a treatment plan, the same way that we would if she had a physical illness that we needed to treat."

"Can she be cured?" I ask.

"When talking about mental illness, it is difficult to look at cures, so to speak" he replies. "But once again, there are many physical illnesses, diabetes and hypertension come to mind, which we cannot cure, but we can effectively treat so that an afflicted person can live a normal, healthy life. We don't think of curing people in a crisis of some kind. We speak of healing them. Now we will set about the process of healing Ana."

"Well, she'll have the best care that money can buy," I say.

"This isn't about money, although it certainly will make things easier" answers Flynn. "We are at the beginning of a long road. But you will need to realize that the road isn't straight nor will the journey be consistently forward. There will be setbacks as well as milestones. The progress will be completely unpredictable, however, I foresee a positive outcome, and not because of all your money."

"Oh?"

"Ana has a very loving support network around her, not just her family, but your staff as well," he replies. "They not only take care of her, they genuinely care for her. Gail Taylor's quiet strength and loving support cannot be bought with any amount of money. When I last spoke with her, Ana frequently referred to her as her anchor."

"What about me?" I ask briefly, bothered that she should characterize Gail in this way.

"Apples and oranges," he replies briskly. "Gail has kept her daily life going for the past month or so since she really started to slide. You are her soul mate, which is an entirely different thing."

"Could Gail have given us a better warning?" I ask.

"Probably not," he answers. "She has been extremely busy. I would say too busy to notice all of the little nuances in her behavior. And she is not trained to recognize and read symptoms. But you missed the symptoms too. And it's not just because of your busy work schedule.

"Ana has been working very hard to conceal the worst of the symptoms, but not on purpose. She has been dodging these feelings of inferiority and unworthiness for years. They have finally come up and slapped her in the face. But she still doesn't want to look at them."

"I guess I can't blame her," I admit.

"You of all people can't blame her," he says honestly. "You spent many years denying your demons and refusing to face them down. But eventually you did and look at the vast improvement in your life. And it was Ana who was mainly responsible for leading you here."

"Now it's my turn to help her," I comment thoughtfully.

"As her husband, lover, and best friend," he replies. "You are critical to her journey back. You can also empathize with her struggles, in a way that most people cannot. However, I don't think that it's a good idea for you to stay with her in the hospital. Especially since she is now awake and talking."

"Why not?" I ask. "If I am critical to her recovery, shouldn't I be with her every minute?"

"No," he says. "It will only make her feel guilty if she thinks that you are putting your life on hold for her. Cut back on your work hours to more spend time with her and be sure to make extra time for the children. She will want that. They will need you more now too. And talk to her about the good times. Remind her of how much you love her every chance you get."

Mother walks out to join us.

"She's asleep," she says. "I'm afraid that she cried after you left. She is very scared right now. And she is worried about the children."

"Would you like to stay until we move her up to her room, Grace?" asks Flynn.

"Yes," answers Mother. "Son, I think that you should go home. I'll stay with Ana. She's pretty mad at you at the moment. I think that it's better for both of you to have some time apart. And you should be with the babies."

"Of course," I reply and realize that I am bone weary.

I walk back to where she is sleeping and kiss her forehead. I see evidence of the tears in her reddened eyes. I hate to leave her.

When I leave the area, I find Taylor waiting for me in the waiting room. He stands as soon as he sees me.

"Sir," he says in his usual professional tone. "Are you ready to go home now?"

I'm too tired to talk, so I nod. We walk out to the parking lot in silence and get into the four by four. It's a silent ride back through the streets that are just beginning to wake up. There is a whisper of light in the east. When we arrive home, I immediately go upstairs to Teddy's room. He is still asleep. Blissfully unaware of the drama that has taken place in the intervening hours.

When I enter my own room, I see Gail holding Phoebe in her arms. The baby is contentedly sucking her bottle. At least Ana won't have to worry about that. Gail looks up at me, but like Taylor, doesn't speak. After a moment she strokes the baby's head.

"May I?" I ask nervously. I have never done this before, even with Teddy.

She smiles and stands up. After I am settled in the chair, she hands me that baby and her bottle and places the burp cloth on my shoulder. Cradling my daughter in my arms, I put the bottle in her little mouth, kiss her little head, and start humming. Phoebe opens her big blue eyes and looks up at me in wonder. It's the first time that I have ever fed her. Gail nods in approval and leaves quietly.

Yes, Flynn is right. This is where I should be. Ana needs to sleep and get over her anger at me. For now, I have to leave her in the care of the doctors. And while I don't have to be sitting here feeding little Phoebe her bottle, it's where I want to be. And in my heart, I know that Ana would want me here. Phoebe continues to gaze up at me. She wants me here too.


	4. Intervention

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Thank you for all of your support and patience. This is a very difficult story for me to write. From the reviews and PMs that I have gotten, I can see that I have struck a chord with a number of women out there. I will be telling the story from several perspectives, so please continue to be patient as I wind my through the story. And continue to give feedback!**

**Chapter 3: Intervention**

Once Christian and Flynn depart from the cubicle, I turn my attention back to Ana. Despite her previous annoyance, I can see tears in her eyes. And they aren't tears of anger. I reach over and pick up her small, cold hand.

"Don't fret, Ana," I say softly. "The children will be fine. Gail is with them right now and I am sure that Christian will go straight home to them."

"I hate to be such a bother," she whimpers.

But I look closely into her lovely blue eyes and realize that there is something more going on. I can read an emotion in there that indicates that she knows that there is something very wrong here. But I also know that she needs to express it herself. If I say it, she will simply deny it.

"You know that no one is bothered, dear," I sooth her. "These things happen."

"But why do they always happen to me?" she asks.

"Pardon me?" I respond, because I really don't know what she is talking about.

"You know," she says. "I am always getting myself in trouble. For example, the Jack Hyde thing . . ."

"Was nothing like this," I quickly interrupt. "He was an evil man who manipulated you into acting foolishly. And how many times do we have to tell you that it was not your fault. His vendetta was against Christian. You were just a side track."

"But if I hadn't . . . " she began again.

"If you hadn't what?" I ask. "He went after you because he knew that it would hurt Christian more than if he went after him. He used you because he knew how much Christian loved you. He's paying the price, and Carrick will make sure that he will never get out of prison."

"But what about when Teddy was born?" she tries again.

"Ana, Ana," I gently shake my head. "Your intentions were admirable. Every woman wants to push her own baby out. But he was too big and your bone structure was too small."

"But I was so stubborn," she frets. "Why am I always so stubborn?"

"Well, you're certainly well matched with my son," I answer wryly. "No one, even you, is more stubborn than he is. It's a part of both of your natures. But stubbornness as a personal quality is not an entirely bad thing. Both of you are very tenacious. That's how you are both so successful and it's how you have overcome so many challenges together. You really are too hard on yourself, sweetheart."

She looks at me doubtfully. I can see that she is thinking that she is not hard enough on herself. Just as she is blind to so many of her wonderful qualities, she seems to always manage to turn them into flaws. Anyone could say the same things about herself. But looking at her now, I can see that even though Ana has appeared so full of confidence the last couple of years, I can see that the underlying feelings of low self-esteem were still present.

Under the bright lights of the emergency room, I can see the girl who seemed so bewildered by the way that Christian loved her. She had clearly adored him, but always looked as though she couldn't believe that he returned her feelings, perhaps even tenfold. Then whenever we told her how happy we were that he had met her, she seemed embarrassed. It was as though she thought that we were flattering her.

Of course, twenty-twenty hindsight is always the clearest. Sitting here now, in this situation, I can see how the makings of this breakdown, there's really no other word for it, began years ago. Then, as if to confirm my hypothesis, she speaks again.

"What are you going to tell Kate?" she asks me.

"Whatever you want me to," I reply easily. "In fact, if you don't want to, you don't have to see her. You don't have to see anyone that you don't want to."

She looks away from me.

"Kate is going to be so mad at me," she whispers. "So is Ray. And my mother is going to cry. She always cries."

Well, that's true enough. If ever there was a weeping willow, it's certainly Carla Adams. But I am not sure about her comments regarding Kate and Ray.

"Why do you think they will be mad at you?" I ask carefully, ignoring the remark about Carla.

"Because they are always mad at me," she says, leaning back. "Whenever I mess up."

At this point, I feel incompetent to speak. I don't want to make things worse, but my immediate instinct is to tell her that she didn't mess up. This whole episode is a very obvious cry for help. But I do not think that she is ready to hear that yet. Luckily, I am saved from answering because she turns away and closes her eyes. The tears slip down her cheeks, but then I hear her even breathing as she drifts off and go out.

Christian is still with Flynn looking defeated.

"She's sleeping but she's scared and worried about the children," I state.

After Flynn offers to let me go up to her room with her, we get Christian to leave. He is completely spent and needs to away from this stress for a while. And he needs to spend some time with the children. After he walks out, Flynn turns to to me.

"Is she really scared?" he asks curiously.

"Not that she will admit," I reply. "She's very busy apologizing and worrying about being a bother. She is also afraid that Kate and Ray will be mad at her."

"Is she feeling out of control?" he asks.

"I think that she is, but it's hard to tell," I reply. "She keeps talking about messing up again."

"Considering her history, that makes sense," he replies. "You know when I first met Ana, she told me that she didn't understand what Christian saw in her. She was afraid that if he wasn't so 'broken' then he wouldn't love her."

"I always knew that something like that was in her mind," I answer. "I don't suppose that you ever followed up on that thought."

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "She has always studiously avoided any personal discussion after that with me. I had told her that the comment said more about her than Christian and that was it. She has always been very careful about anything that she has said around me since."

"Would that explain the antagonism?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," he replies. "She does not want anyone prying into her earlier life. I have tried to keep my distance so that if she ever needed me, she would trust me."

"But it hasn't worked."

"No," he agrees. "It hasn't. Once we settle her, I will find the name of the best female therapist in the Northwest to come and work with her, someone who specializes in post-Partum depression."

"Psychosis?" I ask tentatively.

"Not yet," he replies. "At least I don't think so. But she really should have an expert, preferably a woman. Aside from the fact that this is not my area of expertise, I have too much history with Christian. She needs a fresh start. She needs to be able to tell her story to someone from the very beginning who knows nothing about her. But most of all, she needs to trust her."

"But you'll stay involved?" I ask.

"I will let Christian think that I am," he replies. "At least until he trusts the new doctor."

"I will convince him that she needs a specialist," I say. "And that you should stay out if her treatment. I am afraid that he will have to suck it up."

"Well, right now I would like to get Ana up to her room," he replies. "Before I do, I'm going to make her feel like she has a bit of control."

"How are you going to do that?" I ask.

"Watch me," he answers with a grin and leads me back to Ana's bed.

As we approach, I can see that Ana is awake again. She looks reproachfully at me, I suppose because I left her side. But she frowns when she sees Flynn with me.

"Are you ready to go upstairs, Ana?" he asks.

"No," she replies petulantly. "But I know that you are going to make me anyway."

"Well," he says. "Yes, I am. I think that you need to sleep. Have you gotten any sleep at all tonight?"

"Does passing out count?" she asks sulkily.

"No," he replies firmly. "I will clarify. Have you spent any time at all sleeping in your bed tonight?"

"No," she replies and clams up.

"Okay," he says. "Then, I will be sending you up to your room with instructions to your nurse that you are to sleep."

"Are you coming with me?" she asks.

"Do you want me to?" he asks in return.

"No!" she says firmly.

"Then I won't," he says with a shrug.

"Are you going to give me a pill to help me sleep?" she asks.

"Do you want me to?" he asks once again in return.

"No!" she practically shouts at him.

"Okay," he shrugs again. "Then I won't give you anything to help you sleep."

"Then how will you make sure that I sleep?" she challenges him.

"I will ask the nurse if you slept," he replies easily.

"And what if I don't?" she asks sharply.

"Then you'll be tired and even more cranky than you are now, when I see you in the morning," he answers smoothly.

He looks like he is trying not to laugh. Part of his charm is that he is very ironic. it is his way of cutting through the crap in life. Ana looks even more annoyed at the mention that he will be back in the morning, but I can tell that she is somewhat relieved that she won't have to argue about him coming up or taking a sleeping pill.

"Shall I come up with you, Ana, dear?" I ask gently.

"Yes, please," she replies gratefully.

As I follow her out, Flynn draws me back, and whispers, "Good cop, bad cop."

I shake my head. I suppose that after five years of treating Christian, he is an expert at dealing with stubborn and difficult patients. Once again, I realize how much easier it is to treat the physical body than the emotional mind. In my job, many times all that I have to do is diagnose a disease, prescribe a treatment, and watch the patient heal. In this case, this is no medication, no surefire treatment.

Once up in the room, I ask her if she wants to talk. She shakes her head. The nurse comes in and introduces herself. Her name is Shonda and she is a large, comfortable looking woman. Ana seems to appreciate the fact that she is not trying to make mindless, cheerful conversation with her.

She tells her that if she likes, Christian can bring her clothes and nightgowns from home. Perhaps that would make her more comfortable. Ana is hardly comfortable and unlikely to become so any time. In fact, she looks almost apathetic and resigned to her fate.

Once Shonda has made her as comfortable as she can in the bed, she leaves us together. Because it is a private suite, in addition to the hospital bed there is a couch and a recliner, as well as a private bath. There is even a small table with two chairs so that she doesn't have to eat in be if she doesn't want to. In addition to the television, there is an Internet connection for her laptop. The room is actually more like a simple motel room than a hospital room.

Right now, she is too exhausted to notice, but it would be a comfortable place to stay if she was kept beyond the three days. The set up is such that I am sure that Christian would be able to convince the hospital to permit the children to visit. Once Shonda leaves, I settle myself comfortably into the recliner, angled so that Ana can see me. At first she has her eyes closed, but after a few minutes, she opens them and stares at me.

"If I fall asleep, will you be here when I wake up?" she asks timidly.

I walk over and kiss her forehead, a if she were a small child.

"I promise," I say tenderly.

With a sigh, she nods and closes her eyes. When I hear her even breathing, I return to my chair to keep my vigil. I remember the many nights that I have kept the vigil with sick children and parents. It is so different when it is one of your own. And I truly feel that Ana in a way that my other daughter-in-law Kate is not, is as much my daughter as Mia is. I begin to berate myself. How could I have missed this?

After all, I am considered one of the best pediatricians on the West Coast. People have even brought their children up from California for me to treat. When mothers bring their newborns in for their first visit, and then the subsequent ones, I always look out for the symptoms of "baby blues." But of course, I would never treat my own grandchild. I suppose that I see Ana so frequently that I simply didn't notice the subtle changes of the last month.

I am sure that Christian and Gail are also feeling guilty now. I will have to talk to them. Ana is so good at hiding her pain, years of practice I guess. I have always viewed her as so strong. In the beginning, she was so strong for Christian. If there was ever a wounded and broken soul, it was his.

Yet her simple and powerful love, her determination to discover his secrets, led him from the darkness that had defined his inner life out into the light. Now I realize that she was able to reach him because rather than simply responding on a sympathetic level, there was a genuine empathy with his pain. Through her resolution to bring him peace, she helped him to come to terms with the woman that his mother truly was as well as the father who only discovered him two years ago.

We suffer so much through our children. I am still trying to come to grips with the fact that I am in the hospital sitting at my daughter-in-law's bedside after she was brought in for attempting to drown herself, literally. I had been watching her for the past couple of weeks as she had been figuratively drowning in overwhelming emotions. But it was as if I were standing at the top of a building watching two cars coming towards one another. I could see the impending crash, but I couldn't stop it.

I still can't believe that it has come to this. All through the summer, Ana had managed her last trimester so well. She went to work three days a week and tele-commuted the other two. She had everything under control with the house. While Christian was out playing at his game of mergers and acquisitions, she and Grey Publishing were taking the literary world by storm. Nonetheless, it was still always family first. There was always time for Teddy and the three of them did lots of things together, swimming, sailing, even hiking.

When Phoebe was born, they were overjoyed. She was small, but absolutely healthy. And despite the fact that I was the proud grandmother, I could see that she was exceptionally pretty. My other granddaughter Ava was also very beautiful, but there was something in Phoebe's exquisite white skin and luminous blue eyes that gave her a doll-like quality, quite unmatched by any other infant that I had ever seen.

Of course, Ava had been born the usual way, so she came out red and wrinkly. Elliot, being his usual teasing self, told Kate that she looked like a little monkey. Then Kate wouldn't talk to him for two hours. Always the class clown, he told us, although certainly not Kate, that it was the quietest two hours of his marriage. Because she was born by C-section, Phoebe was white and pink, like a china doll, from her first moments of life outside the womb. But that was where I first began to see little hints of the trouble to come.

For whatever reason, Ana has always compared herself to Kate and found herself lacking. Personally, I would take Ana over Kate any day of the week. Yes, Kate is a stunning blonde with flashing green eyes and a tall, shapely figure. That's why she is perfect for Elliot. She has a fiery spirit and strong personality. She tends to come at you like a freight train. She has the perfect, aggressive personality for a journalist, and for taming my oldest son.

Ana's beauty is more subtle, dark hair, almost black, and deep, blue eyes with fair skin. There is nothing typical about Ana. She is slender as a reed and delicate. One look at Phoebe and you know that someday she will be the picture of her mother. Lucky girl! But her gentle kindness is a temperament more suitable to Christian and his overbearing ways. In her own way, she had tamed, or better put, mellowed him. Talking about her once, Christian said that she cut through all of his shit with her innocence and grace and led him out of the darkness and into the light.

But I am not sure that Ana ever really saw it that way. I used to love her humility, but looking back, I can't help but wonder if it wasn't low self-esteem. Of course, six weeks after Kate had Ava, she went back to work. She managed very well with a nanny at home and flexible working hours due to the nature of her journalistic endeavors. No doubt about it, Kate is a force of nature. Her strength and confidence are admirable.

After Phoebe was born, Ana decided that she didn't want to go back right away. She wanted more time at home with the two children. I couldn't fault her for that. And Christian was very helpful in finding good people to run Grey Publishing for her. The idea was that while she would not be involved in the day to day operations, she would be the creative head. But that idea never really picked up steam with her.

As the weeks went on, she became more and more focused on the children. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I figured that perhaps she had changed her mind about mixing career and family. There was no reason why she should not be a stay-at-home Mom if she was so inclined. Just because Kate was managing so well, didn't mean that she had to be like her.

But for some reason, Ana has always operated under the assumption that she is a disappointment to those around her. I have never understood how she could possibly think that. Teddy adores her and even little Phoebe's eyes shine with joy when she sees her. Christian has always said that his sun rises and sets with Ana. And that may be part of it. I wonder how it must feel to live of the expectations, or rather perceived expectations, of those around her.

I look at the clock and see that it is now 4:30 am. I have barely noticed the time passing. I have always been amazed at the clarity of one's vision in the early morning hours. I don't much notice that I haven't slept in nearly twenty-four hours. I have worked longer stints in my life, and at my age I don't sleep a deeply as I used to anyway. Lying as she is in the bed, Ana looks like a child herself, barely fifteen rather than twenty-five.

Yet even in her sleep, her face looks troubled, as if she cannot relax. Christian says that she often talks in her sleep, especially when she is worried, but she hasn't made a peep. She also has nightmares, but I see no sign at the moment. I sense a restlessness in her posture. She is still hiding from us, probably plotting her way out of here as quickly as possible. It is a pity, she still hasn't come to the realization that she needs help.

She followed a silver pathway to the moon, a pathway that led her into Puget Sound where she made no attempt to save herself when she submerged. She didn't even understand what she had done, how she had come to be dripping in a hospital bed in the emergency room. Whatever it is that is gripping her, it will not let go until she realized that she is in its grasp.

It occurs to me that I should call Chris and Melissa Price. I know that they will want to know. More than that, they are people of faith and have a belief much deeper than my own. Melissa has always asserted that the power of prayer can work wonders. At a loss for anything else at the moment, perhaps prayer is the answer.

And I will have to remember my promise to keep Kate and Ray away, and anyone else that Ana doesn't wish to see. Flynn is right. We have taken so much control over her life out of her hands. I will also tell Christian to cut out the controlling CEO demeanor. This is not a problem that he can solve by playing master of the universe. In fact, it is not his problem to solve at all. It is Ana's problem and she is the only one who can solve it. She deserves what little control we can allow her. Then, I hope, we can convince her to let us do what we must to keep her safe. Whatever we must do, we will keep her safe.


	5. Adjustment

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Note to readers: Please remember that each chapter is written from the perspective of a single character. I apologize if some people have trouble following the "train of thought" as the characters ponder different issues, but when people are in contemplative mode, so to speak, it is stream of conscious versus analysis.**

**Chapter 4: Adjustments**

I have never felt so completely helpless as I did when I was holding poor Ana Grey in my arms after Sawyer had fished her out of the Sound. The night was cold and there was a slight, but perceptible breeze. The water had to have been freezing. Ana was violently shaking in my arms. I could feel the water soaking through the blanket and regretted that I was not large enough to provide her with more warmth. It was an enormous relief when Mr. Grey came and I was able to pass her over to him.

I can't even begin to imagine what he must have thought when he heard the sirens and realized that they were coming down the drive. I had been shocked to the core when Jason called me and told me to bring the blankets down. He had sounded so urgent that I didn't even think to tell Mr. Grey. I even left Sophie sleeping alone in the apartment. But she is a very solid sleeper and her dog Magic, a big black lab, was sleeping at the foot of her bed. Nothing and no one was getting past Magic.

The whole thing made me want to cry. I could barely stumble up the lawn as we followed Mr. Grey towards the EMTs. But Jason took my arm firmly and led me along. He was determined to keep the situation under his control. Once we got there, his security instincts kicked in and he sent me into the house to watch the children. I was very grateful to be able to leave the traumatic scene outside and enter the peace of the house.

Upstairs, Teddy was sound asleep in his crib and Phoebe was peacefully sleeping in the crib. I bent over to pat Teddy's head and he turned over in his sleep. Phoebe cooed a little when I pulled up her blanket a little higher. I had to decide which child to stay with, and I thought that Phoebe was the better choice. Teddy was more than capable of making his needs known, but Phoebe tended to be quieter. And the recliner in the master bedroom was a bit more comfortable than the rocking chair. About 2 am, Jason came in and called me silently from my watch.

"Sawyer is on watch downstairs, while Ryan is watching the CCTV," he whispered. "I am going to the hospital to keep an eye on Mr. Grey."

"When will you be home?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"You should leave a note for Sophie so that she won't be afraid if she wakes up in the apartment alone later," I said. "Tell her to come over to the big house for breakfast. I'll probably be upstairs with the kids. Oh, and let Ryan know that's she there by herself."

"Yes, dear," he said dutifully, but I knew that he was pleased that I was concerned for Sophie.

Since she had come to live with us permanently last summer, parenting has been a whole new world for him. He was so used to being constantly available for Mr. Grey that he would forget that she needed more Daddy time and he had more commitments than when she was spending summers and holidays with us. Not that it was ever a problem. Parent Night at school, a Father-Daughter Dance at Girl Scouts, or an important soccer game and all he had to do was ask for the time off. It was easily granted.

I think that now that he was a parent himself, Mr. Grey had a whole new perspective on these kinds of things. And of course, if Jason couldn't attend something, Ana was always willing to let me step in. In fact, Ana, being the child of divorced parents living far apart from one another has always been very helpful with Sophie. They share an understanding based on common experience, and her support was critical to helping Sophie adjust to her new life after the move.

Now, it is our turn to return the favor. I don't know how long Ana will be kept at the hospital, but I suspect that at the very least it will be three days. In that case, we will bring in someone to help with the cleaning and laundry. On those few occasions when Ana and Mr. Grey had to leave the children for a business trip, that was how it worked. I was able to manage the child care if all I had to worry about was the cooking. Come to think of it, however, Ana has never spent a night away from Phoebe before.

In about an hour, Phoebe wakes up and wants to eat. With no other choice, I prepare a bottle using the formula that Dr. Trevelyan gave us for emergencies. Initially, she wants no part of the bottle, but she must be hungry because she finally gives in. No sooner do I settle her than Mr. Grey comes in looking lost and defeated. Seeing him standing there awkwardly I look up at him with a question in my eyes.

"May I?" he asks uncertainly, since he has never given either child a bottle before.

After I settle them in, I leave to go back to the apartment for a couple of hours sleep. Jason is already there, crashed out. Sophie probably hasn't missed a beat. I pick up the note which she probably couldn't have read anyway and toss it in the wastebasket. Jason's handwriting is worse than chicken scratch. There is no reason for her to get up any earlier than usual and when she does I will be there.

At the usual time, I meet her in our kitchen.

"Sophie, honey," I say. "We have to go over to the big house for breakfast. Your Daddy is still sleeping and I don't want to wake him until I have to."

She looks at me pensively and asks, "Is this about the sirens and the ambulance last night?"

"How much did you see?" I respond carefully.

"Everything, I think," she says. "I saw the ambulance come in and then I saw them put Ana in. Then Mr. Grey went in. Is Ana hurt?"

"Yes, dear," I answer. "Ana got hurt last night. They took her to the hospital and she will be there for a couple of days."

As usual, she looks thoughtful as she processes this new information.

"I will do everything that I can to help," she promises in her most serious tone. "I love Ana and I hope that she gets well soon."

I can see that she is a bit disturbed, so I offer her a hug. She comes into my arms and I am surprised when she pats my back and says, "There, there." Wherever this wonderful child came from, I am so glad that she's with me now. She is nothing like her mother, who was always high strung and needy. And she's somewhat like Jason in that she is a caregiver. But her empathy in a child so young is unique. I realize that she senses my own anxiety.

Sophie and I go over for breakfast in the big house, and Jason to get a bit more sleep. He is going to be very busy for the next few days. I leave her eating when I hear Teddy calling for his Mommy. When I get upstairs, the sight is rather humorous. Teddy is standing in his crib demanding his mother.

Mr. Grey has Phoebe draped over his shoulder and she is watching her brother's mini-tantrum. It is obvious that the formula did not agree with her, as his shirt is covered in spit up. Now he looks at me helplessly.

"Gail?" he says in a small voice.

Immediately, I take charge.

"Here, Phoebe, come to me," I say as he gratefully hands her over. "Mr. Grey, lower the crib bar and take Teddy out."

As he stands him up, Teddy grabs his knees and cries, "Daddy, want Mommy now!"

"Imperious little man, aren't we?" Mr. Grey replies sternly.

Teddy looks back chastened.

"Want Mommy now, please," he says sadly.

For a moment, they both look remorsefully at one another and then Mr. Grey picks him up and hugs him.

"Yuck, Daddy!" complains Teddy. "Icky throw up!"

"Sorry, Ted," he replies ruefully. "Now both of us have to change."

"Me first!" demands Teddy.

Mr. Grey looks at him again.

"Please."

Mr. Grey looks at me and says, "You take care of Phoebe, Gail, and I'll help Teddy."

Suddenly Teddy looks past us and squeals, "Soeee!"

Sophie has followed me upstairs.

"Is there anything that I can do to help, Gail?" she asks softly, slightly bending her head to avoid meeting Mr. Grey's eyes. She is still awed by him.

He heaves a huge sigh of relief and asks, "Could you please help Teddy get changed?"

"Yes, sir," she replies looking shyly at the floor.

"Soeee!" Teddy hollers again and runs to her, but she stops him dead in his tracks.

"Ugh!" she says in a much more relaxed tone. "Keep your messy jams away from my school clothes. Do you want to wear your train overalls?"

"Twains!" he cries joyfully, for the moment forgetting about his absent mother in anticipation of where his favorite outfit.

Sophie smiles and takes his hand as he leads her to his little dresser. Mr. Grey turns and goes to his room to change, while I go to change Phoebe into the nursery. If only we could all be so distractible as Teddy! But of course, Sophie is a favorite and she handles him very well. For less than a minute, I consider keeping her home from school to help entertain him, but I quickly dismiss the thought. She needs to go to school and not be saddled with adult responsibilities, even if she would gladly take them on.

If there was ever an old soul, it is Sophie Taylor. She is mature beyond her years. She has always been a somewhat shy and quiet child, but she is extremely observant and misses nothing. She and Teddy have understood each other since the day that they met. They are an amusing pair when left to their own devices. Gentle Sophie is happy to let the more assertive Teddy take the creative lead, and he relishes it.

On my way into the kitchen, I call in a rather ragged looking Sawyer to have some breakfast. Considering the night that we all just had, I doubt that Mr. Grey will object to joining him at the breakfast bar. I'm right. When Mr. Grey enters, he sits beside him and pats him on the back.

"Thanks for last night, Sawyer," he says wearily. "I will never be able to repay you for saving my wife's life."

"It's all in a day's, or night's, work," he answers gruffly.

Sophie enters with Teddy and puts him into his high chair. Teddy frowns and looks like the picture of his father in a mood.

"Sawyer!" he scolds. "You no with Mommy!"

"That's okay," says Mr. Grey. "Sawyer has been busy with other things."

"Where Mommy?" asks Teddy, remembering her again.

Mr. Grey looks at him seriously.

"Mommy isn't feeling well," says Mr. Grey gently. "She will be away for a couple of nights."

Teddy scrunches up his little face thoughtfully.

"Gramma?" he asks.

"Yes, Teddy, Gramma is with Mommy right now," he replies.

"Okay," he nods. "Gramma make better. Then Mommy home."

Satisfied, he digs his spoon into his Cheerios. Mr. Grey has been leaning towards him, not fully aware of his unskilled eating habits. There is a splash of milk as he digs in, and Mr. Grey gets sprayed.

"Daddy wet!" chortles Teddy in delight. "Ha! Ha!"

Mr. Grey looks up at me with the same rueful expression as before.

"Two for two, I guess," he comments. "I guess I have a lot to learn."

"Lots, Daddy," Teddy agrees, before shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

Unfortunately the thought makes him giggle and he spits most of them out again.

"Now, Teddy," says Sophie sternly. "You know how to eat more neatly than that."

"Yes, Soeee," he says. "Sowwy."

"Oh, no!" she says suddenly. "I missed my ride!"

"Don't worry," soothes Mr. Grey. "Sawyer can drop you off on his way to take care of Ana."

"Yes, sir," replies Sawyer. "Any instructions?"

"Just keep on eye on her. You can stay in the hall. She probably won't let you in anyway," he says. "And make sure that she doesn't have to eat that hospital food. Get whatever she wants from the Fairmont."

"Yes, sir," Sawyer repeats. "Are you ready, Soph?"

"Yes, please," replies Sophie as she stands.

"Soeee bye-bye?" asks Teddy.

"Yes, Teddy," she answers. "I have to go to school."

"Okay," he says seriously, as if he is giving her permission. "Teddy kiss kiss?"

Sophie reaches over carefully to avoid his messy tray and gives him a little peck on the cheek.

"Good day, Soeee!" he says cheerfully. "Dwive cawefuwwy!"

"Huh?" asks Mr. Grey, turning to me.

"That's what people say to each other when they leave the house," I reply with a smile. "So that's what he always says now. It's very cute."

"Yes, it is," he says thoughtfully, looking at Teddy eating. Now that he is focused, he is getting more Cherrios in his mouth than on the tray. "Gail, I feel like all of the sudden I don't know anything. I'm afraid that I can't do this. I feel . . . useless."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You know, fill in for Ana, as the 'parent on call,' so to speak," he replies. "And how are you going to do everything?"

"Well, I've thought about that," I answer. "When you two used to go away, you would bring in a housekeeper for cleaning and laundry. If we need to, we can do that again. But, well, lets wait and see what's what. Little pitchers, you know . . . "

I indicate my head in the direction of the precocious Teddy. Although he looks like he had been eating intently, he is listening to every word. Mr. Grey looks confused.

" . . . have big ears," I finish.

It takes him a second to catch my meaning. Then he gets up and sighs.

"I'll change," he says simply.

I give him a significant look.

"Then I'll eat my breakfast, I promise," he says, with a look at his son.

"Good boy, Daddy," comments Teddy. "Must eat or Mommy no like."

He looks from Teddy to Phoebe who is sitting in her carrier on the side of the breakfast bar. She has been sitting quietly, watching every person and listening to every word with her big blue eyes in her solemn baby face. In that way, she reminds me of Sophie, quiet and observant. Even before he had words, Teddy was grunting and chirping along with us to put in his two cents to every conversation.

"And how are we going to get you to eat, little Phoebs?" Mr. Grey asks.

"Call Dr. Trevelyan and ask her to get Mrs. Grey a breast pump so that we can get her breast milk," I say. "Her problem isn't the bottle, it's that she can't tolerate the formula."

"Oh," he says, wincing at the word "breast." "Perhaps I should give you her cell number so I don't mess up the message."

_Or so that you don't have to say the word "breast" to your mother, _I think in amusement. When I think of that man's lifestyle before he settled down to family life, I am still amazed by how prudish he can be about mentioning some things in front of his mother. Not to mention, how embarrassed he was the first time that Ana nursed in front of the staff and then the family.

Waiting until he leaves before I chuckle, I take the number to make my call. I can see that I am going to have a very interesting day. Despite the extra work and worry, I am grateful that I have the children to focus on. Dear little Phoebe needs constant attention and Teddy is a laugh a minute. Hopefully, Ana will be home soon. It is too early for the children to really miss her, but when they do, I suspect that there will be many tears.

Dr. Trevelyan picks up immediately.

"What's going on at home, Mrs. Taylor?" she asks after I identify myself.

I give her the rundown of the our morning, including the best parts about her son getting spit up on by both kids and how we are managing so far.

"The most important thing," I conclude. "Is that you need to get a breast pump for Ana so that we can feed Phoebe. I think that is why this call was delegated to me."

"To pass along that message?" she asks rhetorically. "Seriously though, how is Christian?"

"All things considered," I answer honestly. "As well as can be expected. I think that he is feeling about as out of control as he ever has. I can tell that he is worried to death about Ana, but he is trying to hide it in front of Teddy. He is unsure of how he is going to manage the kids. Mostly, he looks dazed and confused. And of course he has had almost no sleep."

"Well, tell him that his mother is ordering him to sleep," she replies briskly. "The rest he will just have to play by ear. If he gives you any trouble about anything, just call me and I'll deal with it."

"Oh, I doubt he'll give me any trouble," I reply. "But I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay, thanks," she answers. "Ana's waking up now."

After I hang up, Mr. Grey returns.

"What we do now, Daddy?" asks Teddy.

He looks at me in near despair. I feel bad because he looks absolutely wiped out. Then I notice the lids on Phoebe's eyes drooping.

"I think that you and Phoebe should go up and sleep," I suggest. "Dr. Trevelyan will be sending home some . . . milk in a few hours. Hopefully it will be here when she wakes up."

"Sounds good to me," he says and goes over to pick up Phoebe.

"Me, Daddy," Teddy reminds him.

"You'll stay downstairs with me, Ted," I answer immediately.

He looks back at his father.

"Twains?" he asks hopefully, knowing that Mr. Grey loves to play with his train set as much as he does. They even have matching engineer's caps that they wear when they play.

"Sorry, Ted," he replies. "Later."

"Pwomise?" Teddy asks.

"I promise, son," he says with a little smile and walks out with the baby.

Yes, Mr. Grey is definitely lost without Ana. He will have to check in with his office. At least Ros will handle most of that for him. He will need to take care of Ana's needs an spend time with her. And Teddy is not going to let him forget his promise to play with him. Once I finish with my kitchen chores, I call over to Jason to wake him up. I put Teddy in his playroom which is filled with toys and start the laundry. For the moment, I am grateful to return to the utter normality of my routine.


	6. Awake

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Thanks to those of you who are supporting some of my stylistic choices. I prefer NOT to write in a POV beside the chapter title. Those of you who know and love the characters well don't need it. Now that I introduced almost all the characters, the POVs should be easier to identify.**

**For those of you looking for a quick resolution, it's not going to happen. This is a terrible illness and it would diminish the suffering of those who have personally experienced it to have Ana recover quickly so that they can all live happily ever after with a minimal amount of treatment.**

**Those looking for predictable responses from Ana and her family also need to remember that these kinds of situations are often a "brave new world" for all those involved. No one knows how she will respond in such a situation. While this is my own interpretation, it is just as legitimate as anyone else's.**

**Lastly, to the reviewer who suggested that I need a beta reader, I would like to point out that my spelling, grammatical usage, and punctuation are all correct. I also do not write with a thesaurus at hand. I have been writing for years and for a number of years worked as the editor of a professional publication. While I do not claim that my writing is perfect, I have a pretty good idea of what I am doing. And I will not apologize for my narrative style, which has been developed carefully for years now.**

**Thanks to all of you who have been supporting me. And for those of you who have written that you are grateful that someone is exposing the nature of this often ignored illness, this is written for you.**

**Chapter 5: Awake**

It is the light that startles me first. What time is it? I never wake up this late. It's usually still dark when Phoebe wakes up hungry. Then I look around, perplexed. This isn't my room. Where am I? How did I get here? Where are Christian and the children? My brain feels foggy, like I haven't gotten enough sleep, or maybe too much. It seems like my brain is foggy every day now. Sometimes I feel a though I am living in a kind of permanent haze, the kind that settles over the Sound when it's too humid.

Then I realize that Grace is sitting by my side reading some kind of paper or report. Her eyes look tired, but her focus is intent. She has a pen and seems to be making notes in the margins. When she realizes that I am looking at her, she forces herself to smile and then speaks with that careful cheerfulness that one reserves for someone who is sick or in trouble.

"How are you this morning?" she asks. "Did you sleep well?"

The question confounds me. I want to say that I had slept like shit because I wasn't in my own bed. On the other hand, I haven't slept well in ages, even in my own bed. As I look into her deeply concerned eyes, the memories of last night begin to flood my mind. I remember waking up in the hospital and feeling cold and damp. Christian was there, looking dazed and confused while Flynn stood there with that concern masking "I want to pry into your secrets" look.

How did I . . . Wait a minute! I was in the ER because I had walked into the Sound. I remember now. I was following the silver pathway to the moon . . .

Shit! Flynn. He's the reason why I am here. He's under the delusion that I intentionally walked into the water in order to do away with myself. (He never said it, but I know that's what he was thinking.) Now he has me on 72 hour hold for observation. He wants to make sure that I am not a danger to myself or anyone else. Christian went home to sleep and be there for the kids.

The kids! Phoebe! How is she going to nurse if I am not there to feed her? She hates bottles. She won't even take one with breast milk, even if Gail gives it to her. Now I've overslept. What the hell! I never oversleep, even when I've been in the hospital before. Holy shit! What's going on? I see the crease in Grace's forehead as she contemplates my expression. She does not seem at all surprised that I have slept in too long.

However, I can see that she has been watching my shifting emotions cross my face, second by second. Great! Even she's against me. She might even be on their side. Maybe she thinks that I belong in the hospital too. Damn Christian for calling her! If she hadn't seen me last night, she might have helped me get out now. Is she on their side? What does she think?

"You didn't slip some kind of drug in my IV to make me sleep, did you?" I ask sharply.

She looks surprised by my question, and then hurt. Oh shit! Now I've made her feel bad. She has no reason to feel bad. Grace has always loved me like a mother, and I have returned her love the same way. Now I'm giving her shit. Oh well, if you're going to be someone's mother, you end up with a lot of undeserved shit kicked in your face. Did I just think that? Shit! What has gotten into me this morning?

"I'm not your doctor, Ana," she answers quietly. "But I wouldn't have given you a drug to sleep anyway. You should not have drugs like that because you are a nursing mother. You fell asleep on your own. I stayed with you because you didn't want anyone else."

"Oh."

I feel deflated. My memories from last night are still pretty hazy. I remember being pissed at Flynn and to a lesser degree at Christian. But Christian went home to be with the kids. I suppose that's where I wanted him to be. I don't remember saying so. I remember telling Flynn that he couldn't come up to my room with me. Grace came with me. Yes, I wanted her with me. I didn't want her to leave me. I needed _someone _to hang onto.

"Where is Christian?" I ask, just to confirm my supposition.

"He went home to be with the children, remember?" she replied. "When he got home he fed Phoebe a bottle and a little later he had breakfast with Teddy. He's going to work from home today so that he can help Gail with them. He'll be by to visit later."

I try to follow what she was telling me, but one thing strikes me as very odd.

"He fed Phoebe a bottle?" I ask. "He has never fed her a bottle before, or Teddy for that matter. And he was willing to take them."

"Well, he did," she replies a little proudly. "And Phoebe rewarded him by spitting up all over him."

"Good for her," I mumble. "I guess that what he gets for trying to give her formula."

"If that pleases you," she responds with a smile, glad to have a chance to lighten my mood. "Then you will be amused to know that he got too close to Teddy while he was eating his Cheerios."

We exchange one of those "Mommy club" glances that husbands hate. No matter how much they try to engage in their children's lives, it's the Mom who is always one step ahead.

"Well, he's been so busy lately that he hasn't had breakfast with us in a while," I sigh. "In that time, Ted has become much more independent. He's at the stage where he gets more Cheerios on the tray and floor than in his mouth, but he won't like anyone else feed him."

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "Stubborn streak. Very independent. Sound like anyone that we know?"

I grimace.

"Like father like son, huh?"

"Or like mother like son," she replies candidly. "You have some things to face up to, dear."

Ignoring her rebuttal, I respond, "So can they really hold me for 72 hours? Or did Flynn just do that because he didn't want me to go home last night?"

"You'll be here for the full 72 hours, at least," she answers. "Since it is obvious that you don't want any part of Flynn, he's calling in a specialist to look you over and treat you."

"Treat me?" I ask, trying to control my anger.

"Ana, if you like, I can avoid the issue and we'll pretend that this is all just a big misunderstanding," she replies. "But something happened last night. It was very dangerous and you don't remember it. For that reason alone, we need to get to the bottom of this before something else, possibly worse, happens."

"So then I really am stuck here for the duration," I say, feeling resigned to my fate. "But what about Phoebe?"

"I asked the nurse to bring you a breast pump," she comments. "I hope that you don't mind. But your breasts are going to get terribly painful unless you pump regularly. I know that Phoebe has refused anything but the breast up to this point, but she will take the breast milk better. You don't want to get blocked ducts again."

"I sure as hell don't," I reply, remembering that awful experience after I returned to work and didn't pump often enough.

I have never really liked pumping. It makes me feel like a cow or something. But it was a necessity if I didn't want to wean Teddy and since I was working, I couldn't feed him regularly. But I didn't want to bring him to the office and flaunt my status while other mothers working there had day care issues to deal with, not mention pumping. It was a little too Sarah Palin for me.

No, I feel crappy enough. I don't need to add aching breasts to the mix. Despite my desire to get out of the hospital bed and home as quickly as possible, I can feel the familiar lassitude falling over me. With it came the sense of dulling emotions and numbed reactions to everything around me. I began to slip back into my subtle stupor again.

"Would you like something to eat, Ana?" Grace asks kindly.

"No, I'm not hungry."

I can tell that my answer doesn't please her, but I don't care. I am not hungry. Naturally, she doesn't force me. Next she asks me if I want Christian to bring in some "street clothes" so that I don't have to wear the hospital gown. I can even wear real clothes instead of nightwear if I like during he day. I guess that's what money can buy. I really don't care. It seems as if it would be a terrible effort to change.

"But if you shower," she encourages me. "Then wouldn't it be nice to have fresh clothes of your own to change into?"

"I don't feel like a shower," I answer. "I'm tired. You can go. I won't be very good company for you if you stay."

"Ana," she says firmly. "Look at me. Stop trying to avoid eye contact. You aren't hungry, even though you haven't eaten for twelve hours or more. You are refusing a shower after you took a plunge in the Sound. God only knows what the quality of that water is. And you are not interested at all in putting on some normal clothes. Most hospital patients would die for that. And you say that you are too tired . . . "

She looks at me significantly as she leaves her statement dangling, unfinished in the air. I want to look away, but she holds me with her concerned and kind gaze. I can see that she is trying to help, but she is negotiating treacherous waters. She is genuinely concerned and really wants to help me. Underlying her suggestions is a strong dose of encouragement for me to help myself.

And I finally realize that if I continue to sulk, then it will have a negative impact on the judgment of my new doctor as to whether or not I can return home. I want to get out of this prison, masking itself as a deluxe hospital. I want to get back to my husband and children, and back to my life.

So I realize that if I don't eat, shower, or change into "street clothes" it will give them more ammunition to keep me longer. I call my private nurse Shonda in.

"What do you need, Mrs. Grey?" she asks kindly.

"Ana, please," I reply out of habit, since I hate being called Mrs. Grey. "What are they serving for breakfast this morning?"

"Whatever you want, ma'am," she answers politely. "A man, Mr. Sawyer, is outside. Mr. Grey has arranged for you to have all of your meals catered by the Fairmont Olympic. He can get you anything you want."

I roll my eyes.

"Okay," I say. "Please tell him that I want my usual, granola, Greek yogurt, fresh blueberries and English breakfast tea."

She smiles.

"You're lucky, you get your meals sent in," she says. "You sure as hell ain't getting that here."

I like her tone of voice. She sounds a little but sassy.

"And could you please tell Sawyer to please call Taylor and tell him to bring some comfortable clothes for me?" I ask.

"Yes, ma'am," she responds with a bit more of an edge in her voice. "Is there anything else that you'll be wanting?"

"No, that's good for now," I say.

"Yes, ma'am," she replies and then adds sarcastically. "And _Ana _the next time you want something from Sawyer, you can ask him yourself. I'm your private nurse, not your lady's maid."

"Shonda?" asks Grace. "Do you think that you could be a dear and bring in that breast pump for Mrs. Grey?"

"And now I'm a dairy farmer," she grumbles. "But at least you ask nice."

With a cheerful grin, she leaves Grace and I alone. I feel somewhat chastened by her rebuke.

"Did I really sound that high-handed, Grace?" I ask.

"And then some, dear," she answers with a smile. "Christian used to wonder if you would ever get used to being rich. Lets say that you have. But Shonda is right. This is a hospital and the nurses and doctors who work here are not your staff or servants, as she implied. Shonda is one of the best psychiatric nurses that we have here. Despite the obscene amount of money that Christian is paying her to personally care for you, she won't stay unless she likes it.

"I should apologize to her," I say uncomfortably. "This really isn't like me."

Shonda returns with the pump.

"You can put the milk in your little refrigerator until someone brings it to your baby," she says. "Never did like those damn things myself, always made me feel like a cow or something."

"Me too," I agree. "And Shonda, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to treat you like a servant."

"Apology accepted," she says smartly. "Just don't go doing it again."

After she leaves, Grace turns to me and looks at me seriously. I can see that she is not about to drop our previous conversation topic.

"Ana, honey," she says gently. "There is a lot about you right now that isn't like you. You really need to examine yourself and your behavior carefully and honestly. But that's something that you need to do for yourself. No one can do it for you. Do you need for me to stay any longer?"

"No, Grace," I say. "You look tired. I suppose that Flynn will be coming in soon.

"I'm sure he will," she replies. "And Christian will be coming in too. He is very worried about you."

"He doesn't need to be," I reply. "I'll be home in a couple of days and then everything will return to normal."

She looks at me doubtfully, but doesn't answer. She gives me a hug and a kiss and then leaves me alone to brood. I can tell that she is more concerned than she is letting on. I recall our conversation from last night. I really would prefer not to have to deal with Kate and Ray, or my mother for that matter. Perhaps Flynn can make himself useful and restrict my visitors. Surely that wouldn't impact their decision about whether or not to force me to stay. I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in," I say and Sawyer walks in with a box from the Fairmont and a shopping bag.

"Thank you, Sawyer," I say politely.

"Will that be all, Mrs. Grey?" he asks formally.

"Sawyer, thank you for last night," I say with genuine feeling. "I'm sorry that I was the cause of your ice cold swim."

"Pleased to be of service, ma'am," he replies. "Just doing my job."

He is attempting to look professional, but I can see that he is worried about me also. His response is the usual gruff one that he gives when he has gone above the call of duty for us. But we do know that he cares. I decide to change the subject.

"What's in the bag?" I ask curiously.

"Taylor sent over some comfortable clothes for you," he says. "The nurse says that you want them."

"Thank you, Sawyer," I say. "Is Taylor here?"

"He and Mr. Grey will be here shortly," he replies. "I believe that they have a meeting with Dr. Flynn."

"I'm sure that you know much more than I do," I grumble.

Sawyer ignores my remark.

"Do you need anything else, ma'am?" he asks.

I shake my head. With a nod of the head, he leaves to return to his post in the hallway. I open the box and find everything that I ask for, including a thermos with hot water for my tea. As usual, the Fairmont can be counted on for the highest quality food and service. Although I'm not hungry, I eat every bite, knowing that someone will check. Then I pick up the clothes bag and go to the shower.

Looking inside I discover that someone had sent over jeans, a couple of tee shirts, and my Converse, along with the fresh underwear. There are also toiletries. Someone, probably Gail, made sure that I would have everything I needed. She even packed a hairdryer. There is one item that I think might have gotten in there by mistake. Teddy's little blue rabbit, Mr. Hoppy.

I find that after my shower and putting on my fresh clothes, I actually do feel better. Eying the pump with trepidation, I pull it out and hook myself up. It is probably mostly for this reason that I have been putting off going back to work. I should remember that thought when the doctor starts to question me about staying home for three months like this. When I am done, I put the milk in the fridge, clean up the gear and put it away in the bag.

However, now I feel at loose ends. I don't want to go back to bed. I notice the recliner chair and the table and chairs in the suite. If I had any energy, I could ask Taylor to bring my laptop. But I don't really have any energy. At home I have the kids to keep me active, up and around. Here there is nothing to do but sit and think. I look around and try to decide where to sit. I choose that recliner where Grace sat all night. It is both comfortable and comforting. The faint aroma of her Chanel perfume still clings to the fabric.

I don't know how long I sit there before I hear another knock on the door.

"Come in," I call out, wearily.

Christian and Flynn walk in. Christian is immediately at my side, taking my hand and kissing me. Flynn hangs back. I presume that he wants to watch our interaction for any sign that I might need to stay beyond the requisite 72 hours.

"Good morning, darling," he says, his voice filled with love and concern. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected in a place like this," I say, trying to infuse some life into my words. "You know that I never sleep well in the hospital."

He nods absent-mindedly. I can tell that he is examining me closely, taking inventory of my appearance. There is a part of me that wants to scream. _Yes, I have eaten and showered, put on my comfortable street clothes, and even pumped! I am playing along nicely now. It's your turn to play nice and get me out of this place!_

Reluctantly, I remember the days when all he had to do was walk into the room and my world was lit up. I think of the relief I felt when I first saw him after our five-day separation following the belt incident. I recall the burst of emotional strength I felt when he walked into the waiting room as I sat anxiously awaiting news of Ray's condition after his horrific car crash. Finally, there was the utter feeling of safety when I woke up to find him keeping vigil by my side after the Hyde incident.

"The Christian Grey effect" is what I have always called. It is the ability that his mere presence had to turn my world around. For three and a half years, he was been my source of strength and light, giving me a feel of beauty and self-confidence. Now, I feel nothing. Is it because he is so worried that he can no longer project his own strength and confidence?

No, he has been worried before, when Hyde beat me up and when Blip, Teddy, was in distress. Has he lost his ability to disguise his fears to reassure me? No, he doesn't seem to have changed at all. He is still his gloriously handsome self. He is still mine. And once again I begin to wonder what I have ever done to deserve his love and devotion. After everything that he has done for me, after everything that he had given to me, what have I ever given to him but grief and trouble?

He is everything and I am nothing without him. He has given me those two beautiful children and I repay him by leaving him on his own to deal with a child smack dab in the middle of the terrible twos and a nursing infant who drenches him in formula she can't tolerate. I have got to get out of here and make it up to him. Can't Flynn see that?

"Do you have everything that you need?" he asks solicitously. "Are you comfortable?"

"Well, a comfortable is a relative term in this case. This is quite comfortable if compared to the usual hospital accommodations," I answer. "In fact, this room is almost like a luxury hotel. However, I would be much more comfortable at home. I miss the children, and you of course. I suppose that the good doctor is over there evaluating my fitness to return home as I speak."

Flynn walks over.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ana," he says. "But once Dr. Tyler arrives, I will be turning your case over to her. She will make the ultimate determination as to when you return home."

"Who is Dr. Tyler?" I ask.

"Dr. Tyler is a specialist," he answers smoothly. "She practices in San Diego, but Christian has made it worth her while to come up here for as long as necessary to treat you."

"What is her specialty?" I ask suspiciously.

"Her area of expertise is in women's or female psychology," he replies. "But her area of specialization is post-Partum depression."

"What makes you think that I have post-Partum depression?" I ask, the pitch of my voice rising as I speak.

"Perhaps, we should say that I only _think_ it," he quickly qualifies. "Dr. Tyler will be able to make a definitive diagnosis."

"And then what happens?"

"Having a diagnosis means that she can develop a treatment plan," he says. "As I said earlier, she is an expert in this field, the top of the line."

"So then, she may disagree with you?" I ask hopefully.

"Absolutely," he replies. "I notice that you have eaten your breakfast."

"Yes, I have," I reply. "Christian, thank you for organizing that."

"It was no problem," he answers. "Actually Taylor did it."

"Of course," I reply.

"And I see that you have showered and changed," comments Flynn. "That must make you feel better."

"Of course it does," I reply simply. "Did you pack for me, Christian?"

"No," he answers. "Gail did. I tried, but I kept asking her what you needed. She said that it would be quicker if she just did it. But Teddy helped. I think that he added something of his own."

"Mr. Hoppy," I say with a little smile. "I thought that he had fallen in by mistake."

"No," he replies. "He is here intentionally."

"How are they, the children that is?" I ask wistfully. "Do they miss me?"

"Very much," he answers with feeling. "Teddy is worried. He insisted that Sawyer come over when he saw him at breakfast."

"I understand that you got a little to close to the high chair," I say.

"Yes," he says ruefully. "I've already changed my clothes twice. It was only after his 'explosion' that I noticed the plastic sheet covering the floor beneath the chair. The formula does not agree with Phoebe."

"Yes, I know," I reply. "The nurse brought me a breast pump earlier. Grace was concerned that my milk ducts would get blocked again. I'm sure that you remember how painful it was for me the last time it happened. I pumped just before you came in, so you can bring the milk home when you leave"

"Yes, I will," he winces, hating all references to my breasts even in front of Flynn. "Is there anything that I can get you so that you have something to do? You know a book? A laptop? Some DVDs for the player in the television."

"No," I sigh. "I can't really concentrate on anything at the moment."

He exchanges a glance with Flynn. I shake my head. Three steps forward, two steps back. The accomplishments of eating, showering, getting dressed, and pumping have been undercut by admitting to feeling unfocused. I stifle a yawn. I am trying t project confidence, but actually, I feel very ill at ease. Even though Flynn says the he has no say over the other doctor's diagnosis, I am sure that he will report everything that he observes.

The thought of it makes me feel anxious. I feel as though for the next two and a half days, I will need to be on my best behavior. I am going to have to much every word I say and every move that I make. I know that I should be on guard at all times, but my perceptions all feel duller. And nothing that anyone says or does can shake me out of the stupor I feel falling over my consciousness.

I know that I should have a million questions about the children, but I can't think of one. Normally, I would have so much to say to Christian. There is a part of me that wants to share with him my thoughts and feelings from this morning, but there is another part that just . . . can't. Even though it would be fun to tease him by talking about breast pumps. While I was talking to Grace, even about the most mundane things, I could read all kinds of concern in her eyes. I don't even know what I said, but I know it worried her.

An uncomfortable silence ensues. I want to talk, but I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. Christian sits beside me and takes my hand, rubbing it along the knuckles as he does so frequently. It is an affectionate little gesture. I remember the first time he did it, on that first coffee date after the infamous photo shoot. I want to mention it, but my head feels too fuzzy for deep conversation. And as I perceive things now, it seems that that could turn into a deep conversation.

I want Christian to stay and I want Flynn to go. But I don't know if it will count against me if I kick him out. Feeling a bit dazed, I decide to change the subject because I remember what I want to ask him.

"Flynn, as long as you're here, why don't you make yourself useful?" I ask with an edge in my voice. "Can I request that only certain people visit me?"

"If you wish," he says. "Is there anyone in particular that you don't want to see."

Uh, oh, we've hit a danger zone.

"No, no one in particular that I _don't _want to see," I say carefully. "But there are only a few people that I am in the mood for seeing, aside from doctors and nurses."

"Okay," he replies genially. "Who do you want to see?"

"Christian of course," I reply. "And Grace. But no one else really."

"What about Sawyer?" asks Christian.

"Of course, him also," I reply. "In fact, if I want him to run any errands for me, I have to ask him myself. Shonda told me that she wasn't my messenger girl."

"That sounds like Shonda," answers Flynn with a chuckle. "She'll keep you on your toes. And she won't take any crap from you either."

"So I've noticed," I say wryly.

"If you don't like her, we can replace her," says Christian automatically.

"Oh, no, she's fine," I say immediately. "I kind of like her. She's . . . sassy."

"Sassy," muses Flynn. "That's a good word for her. I'm sure that she would prefer that adjective to some others that she's been called."

"Really?" asks Christian, now interested.

"Let's just say that Shonda doesn't take no shit from nobody," he says. "No matter how sick you are, she will demand your respect at all times. She's the best psyche nurse in the ward and she's dealt with some tough characters over the course of her career."

"Grace said that she would quit if I didn't shape up," I add. "Despite the outrageous price that you are paying for her private services."

"She would?" Christian s surprised.

"Yes, she would," nods Flynn. "That was why I wanted her. She's the best."

"If you say so," says Christian uncertainly. "I just want to make sure that she gives Ana the best care."

"She will," he says. "Listen. I have to visit a couple of patients, so I will leave you now. Will I see you later, Christian?"

"Yes, you will," he nods.

After Flynn leaves, he sits down on the couch and motions for me to come over. I slip into his arms and sit on his lap. It feels good to reestablish the physical connection. I rest my head in the hollow of his neck and he absentmindedly strikes my hair.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"For what?"

"For causing all of this trouble," I respond. "Here I am living a life of leisure while you and Gail are trying to keep the house running normally. And then look at how I put out the security team last night. I just don't know what got into me."

"We all know that and that's why you're here, Anastasia," he replies softly. "We need to find out 'what got into you,' and address it. Gail has everything under control and of course Sophie is helping out."

I frown at that thought.

"Sophie is a ten-year old child," I say. "She shouldn't have to help out. She should be out playing and having fun, not taking care of other people."

"Sophie is fine," he soothes. "And her way of helping mostly involves playing with Teddy. She likes doing it."

I shake my head.

"She needs to have a childhood," I reply. "She has been through enough already. We should be taking care of her, not the other way around."

Now he looks uncomfortable.

"I know what you are thinking of," he answers. "And it's not the same. You took care of Ray and Carla because there wasn't another adult around. And I . . . well. There are adults taking care of Sophie. Not just Gail and Jason, but you and the whole security staff. If she wants to help out with the kids a little then let her. I know that she prefers being in the house to being over in the apartment while Gail and Jason are working."

"You're right of course," I say. "Just because I identify with her, doesn't mean that her life is like mine was."

"It absolutely is not," he says firmly. "Would you like to do anything special now?"

"I would like to sit here in your arms and pretend that we are home," I answer, snuggling closer.

"I think that can be arranged," he says as he adjusts himself so that he is more comfortable.

I don't know how long we sit there silently until I fall asleep. I was really trying not to, but I feel so warm and safe when he holds me like that. I wish that I always felt that safe, but I don't. And I don't know why either. I should. I am probably one of the safest people in the world. And I have everything in life that I ever wanted. I don't understand it. I still can't feel happy.

When I wake up, I am lying on my bed. I look at the clock and notice that it is after the noon hour. Mr. Hoppy is propped by the clock. Christian must have had things to do and didn't want to leave me on the couch. But he didn't want to wake me up either to say goodbye. The thought makes me frown again. I see that it is around lunchtime. I suppose that I should call Sawyer and have him get me something to eat, if only to continue the pretense of having a normal appetite.

But I'm too tired to get up and I am really not hungry at all. I kick off my jeans and Converse and crawl under the covers. I know that I would be more comfortable if I ditched the bra as well and just slept in my tee shirt and panties. But that would take too much effort. Forgetting about my plan to appear bright and cheerful so that I can go home, I fall asleep again. There's nothing to do anyway but sit and think. And I've already done enough thinking for one day.

After I fall asleep, I begin to dream that I am in our meadow. It is late Spring and the grass is high and the wildflowers are out. The sunlight is warm and the sky a rich, clear blue. Phoebe is already large enough to sit up alone. She is smiling at Teddy, who is running around in circles with Christian. Sophie is sitting with Phoebe, watching over her like a little guardian angel. Her long blonde hair glows in the light in contrast to Phoebe's shorter, strawberry blonde curls.

They are both wearing white dresses. Christian and Ted are wearing jeans. Ted's shirt has the words "Daddy's Little Boy" inscribed on the chest. I can hear their laughter as they run and Teddy's shrieks as Christian catches him and swings him around.

"More Daddy! More!" he cries out.

I look for myself in the picture and notice that I am sitting alone under a tree. Despite the warmth of the sun, I am cold. I am sitting in the shadows. The leaves of the tree are thick, so I do not even get the warmth that would come through a less foliated tree. I notice Phoebe looking over at me.

She holds out her little arms and says, "Mamma."

Sophie squints in my direction and replies, "Sorry, Phoebe. Mamma isn't there."

But I am there.

"Phoebe, I'm here! I'm here!" I cry loudly.

But Phoebe has turned away and now I can see her playing patty cake with Sophie. I look at the four of them, my family. But they don't or can't see me. I have become invisible. I am now out in the cold, darkness . . .

I wake with a start and look at the clock. Barely fifteen minutes have passed since I lay down. But I can't keep my eyes open. Seeing the blue rabbit again, I reach over and hold him for a second. Then I put him to my nose and inhale deeply. He smells deliciously of Teddy. Taking it in my arms, I cuddle it and pretend that it is my little boy. Once again, I fall into a restless sleep once more.


	7. Plans

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 6: Plans**

The minute that Ana Grey sardonically asked me if I had started working the graveyard shift in the ER, I knew that any chance that I had to be an effective therapist for her was gone. Her sarcastic tone, laced with anger, meant that in addition to being royally pissed at me, she no longer trusted me. And trust is the basis of any relationship between a therapist and his patient.

She looked terrible, like something between a half-drowned cat and a ghost. Her skin was pale and despite having warmed up some, her lips were blue. Her hair was strung out in damp, black locks over her pillow giving a Medusa-like look. Her eyes were sunken, probably due to lack of good sleep and a poor diet. She was huddled under her blanket. I ordered her to be stripped and changed into a dry hospital gown, with fresh bed linens, before I examined her.

Christian came in with Grace after she was changed and her hair towel-dried and brushed. That somewhat improved her appearance, but Grace still looked horrified. She had called me a week ago because she had noticed Ana slipping into just this sort of vague malaise that might turn into a crisis. But there was nothing that I could do for her unless she came in to see me of her own accord. At that point, it was obvious that that was not going to happen any time soon.

After ascertaining that Ana was not going to cooperate in her treatment if I was the lead physician, I told Christian that she needed a specialist. Despite his own very deep trust in me, he responded well to the idea, especially if it meant going out of state to find one. It would also allow him to spend lots of money on her treatment. Spending money in that way always made him feel better, more powerful than mere mortals who had to rely on health insurance with co-pays and deductibles. It gave him a sense of control in situations that were beyond his control.

Lucky for him, there were suites in the hospital that were designed for the comfortable recovery of the rich and famous (as if Bill Gates would ever come here for treatment). We could put her in a room with a sitting room atmosphere and private bath. She would be permitted to have visitors whenever she wanted. If he wanted to, he could send in food from the Fairmont like he usually did.

And because she was a psych patient, she would be allowed to wear her own clothes during the day. But I didn't tell him that, in case he decided to mention it to her. I thought that he would be more cooperative if he thought that it was a special perk for her. This kind of special treatment also gave him a feeling of control.

We would also arrange for a private nurse. I wanted a certain older, African-American woman who had seen and heard it all. It was amazing that she hadn't gotten burned out years ago working in the psych ward; but it was her life's mission. Just as an oncologist enjoys watching a patient leave his office cancer-free, Shonda likes to see her patients walk out to their families and back to a somewhat normal existence.

Shonda would also keep Ana's smart mouth in line and would not be intimidated by her husband's wealth. I suspected that a strong dose of her "attitude" would convince Ana that she could trust her to always be truthful, whether she wanted hear something or not. The last thing that she needed was some obsequious, star-struck nurse who was primarily determined to please her and Christian by acquiescing to her every whim.

Over the years, Shonda had cultivated a "ghetto" persona when dealing with the patients. Although she had been brought up in a completely average middle-class home outside of Fresno, in the early years, many of her patients treated her as if she had escaped from the "hood." Rather than insulting her, it amused her. She found it a useful tool when working with those who distrusted their more highly educated, affluent doctors. They accepted her as "good people" and opened up to her, assuming that she wasn't analyzing everything they said.

When I first met her, I was completely fooled. Like the patients, the psych ward nurses also wore street clothes. Shonda favored bright colors and large jewelry. She occasionally wore a wig, but usually preferred her own short cropped her. She had the mannerisms, body language, and speech patterns down pat. She seemed to be the consummate actress.

About a year ago, after closely observing her, I came up with a theory. I decided to test it.

"Shonda," I asked her. "Is this little charade for the patients' benefit or your own?"

She looked surprised and then gave me a large grin.

"I do believe that it is for both," she said. "The patients like having a wise ass, ghetto nurse. They think I'm cool. But when I come in here, I become a different person. When I go home, I can go back to my real life as Sondra Lewis who likes to watch _Downton Abbey _and read Antonia Fraser books in my spare time. If my patients knew the real me, they wouldn't give me the time of day much less tell me about all their shit."

I have always admired her guts. She was not only capable of dealing with some of the wilder patients that ended up on that floor, she has on more than one occasion told an unfortunate doctor that he was crazier than the "whacks" in the ward. Shonda was never one to suffer fools gladly. And she was absolutely dedicated to her career, which had not fallen into her lap by default. After looking over many options, she had chosen it.

Aided by her race as well as her straight A average and valedictorian status, Shonda won a prized seat at UC Berkeley in the pre-med program back in the eighties. But it was when she began her clinical training in the hospital that she found her life's calling. Unimpressed by the salary differential, she decided to switch her major to nursing. Because the high and mighty Berkeley did not have a program for such a "lowly" profession, she transferred to UCLA for her degree. She then, while rotating through the various departments during her practicum, found her niche in the psych ward.

Married shortly after graduation to an engineer, she traveled north with him to Seattle to settle. They had two daughters, Shelly and Lauren. To fit in with her projected image, Shonda renamed them "Shaniqua" and "Loquisha" for her patients who asked. In fact, Shonda's legal name is Sondra. Unfortunately, the marriage only lasted ten years, and Shonda was left alone to raise her girls as a single mother.

Presently, they are both away at college, so Shonda will be available to provide the kind of twenty-four hour nursing care that Ana will need. She is an independent woman, but I know the extra money that Grey will pay her will be a big help with the girls' tuition bills. Shonda went to the UC schools back in the day when they were practically free for in-state students. Even though the girls have large scholarships to help pay for their private colleges, part of their financial aid deals include large loans.

This is something that Shonda hates, but she doesn't have a choice. It is rare that students in America can graduate from university without being heavily in debt. No doubt Taylor will discover this, but it won't affect his decision to hire her. I decide to tell him not to even try getting her to sign one of Grey's ridiculous NDAs.

The very suggestion that Shonda would breach Ana's HIPAA rights would send her out the door immediately. She is a highly professional individual and understands the necessity of keeping the trust of such a high-profile woman. To Shonda, Ana will just be another patient, no different from the rest of them.

Ana was very annoyed when I placed her under a 72-hour hold. But I didn't want to mess around with her. I didn't trust her enough to send her home before I could get an expert in to look at her. And I was only too glad when I was able to send her upstairs with Grace. I needed to get on with my plans as quickly as possible. I go immediately to a borrowed office in the psych department.

A quick check on the Internet yielded a doctor in Los Angeles who was considered one of the top experts in the field of female psychiatry. At the moment, she is not in active practice, but taking some time off to write a book on body image in young girls. That is perfect. If the topic of the book had been post-partum, Ana would have sniffed it out immediately and the shit would have quickly hit the fan.

Dr. Charlotte Tyler holds a degree in psychiatry from Yale Medical School. She has worked in a variety of prestigious hospitals in upscale communities. She is familiar with the stresses of the lives of wealthy women who are constantly in the public eye. This might be critical to her success in gaining Ana's trust. Rather than tell her that she is lucky to be so rich, she may validate her very real conflicts and anxieties, rather than reinforce her guilt about them.

As it is, some of Ana's reluctance to admit to any problems is that she has the so-called perfect life. She has a loving husband, two beautiful children, a highly supportive extended family, a full staff of loyal and devoted people. The list goes on and on. Yet, there is a feeling of inferiority and insecurity, which has been present in her life prior to meeting Christian, that has never fully gone away.

It had retreated below the surface after her marriage to Christian. He thinks that the sun rises and sets over her. He gives her everything her heart desired and then some. She has helped him overcome many of his own issues, but she has never let him return the favor. Instead, she buried her feelings of inadequacy and has tried to see herself through his eyes.

Yet like a cancer that goes into remission waiting to strike when the body's resistance is low, the feelings low-esteem were simply lying dormant. The natural depression that often follows a pregnancy opened the door for them to resurface. Something had exacerbated them this time around, but who knew what that could be? Perhaps her hormonal response had been stronger than the last. Perhaps there had been some trigger in her environment.

Dr. Tyler, with her years of experience treating these kinds of patients will hopefully be able to overcome Ana's strong resistance to therapy of any kind for herself (although she has never been adverse to Christian seeking my help). I immediately put a call through to Taylor. No doubt, he will want to run a full security check on her as well. In addition to a large salary for her work, no doubt Tyler will want comfortable housing. But once again, for Christian money is no issue. In fact, this kind of project can probably be considered his own version of retail therapy.

Having done that, I call Shonda in for her shift early. The latest "innovation" to hospital scheduling is the twelve-hour shift. She had been scheduled for an 8 to 8 stint, but I told her that I had an offer that that she hopefully couldn't refuse. After I explain the situation, she rolls her eyes.

"You called me in here three hours early to tell me about some rich-ass woman trying to take a swim in Puget Sound after midnight?" she asks with her usual saucy way with words.

"Cut the shit, Shonda!" I reply. "Rich-ass women can be just as crazy as poor women."

"Mm-hmm," she says. "Probably crazier."

"Her husband will make it worth your while," I offer.

"How worth my while?" she asks, now interested.

"Name your price," I say.

"Who the hell is this rich bastard who wants a private nurse so bad for his loony wife that he can say 'name my price'?" she asks skeptically.

"Christian Grey," I answer.

Her jaw drops open, probably a first. Shonda may have been there, done that, and bought the tee shirt, but this clearly blindsides her. Just making the offer was worth seeing the expression on her face.

"Christian fucking Grey, Mr. Multi-million-billionaire wants me to babysit his crazy-ass wife?" she asks in astonishment. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," I shrug. "He wants the best and you're it."

"Thanks for the compliment," she says quietly, but adds doubtfully. "I think."

"I don't know if you are aware of it, but Dr. Grace Trevelyan is his mother," I say, hoping to influence her decision positively.

"Dr. Trevelyan is a good lady," she admits. "She took care of both my girls when they was little. Who is the rich bitch's doctor? You?"

"No," I reply ruefully. "She wants none of me."

"Well at least she has good judgment about something," she mutters. "So who's the doctor then, Percy?"

"No, I'm hoping to bring an expert in," I reply. "Have you heard of a Dr. Charlotte Tyler?"

"From UCLA?" she asks. "The one who writes the books about female psychology?"

"The one and the same," I answer. "Have you read any of her books?"

"Of course," she says. "Her book on eating disorders in young girls is required reading for any Mamma of a little girl. She also just published a book on girl bullies and the way that they differ from boys."

"Interesting that you know so much," I comment. "And you don't even work with children."

"Like hell I don't!" she shoots back. "Can't tell you the number of patients I've had whose shit all started back in childhood or middle school. You wouldn't believe the stories that I've heard over the years. Not that you'd ever hear them yourself. When was the last time that you were down there in the trenches instead your fancy schamncy office?"

"My residency in London," I admit. "But rich or poor, when it comes to this kind of shit there's no difference. Money can't buy happiness you know."

"But it sure makes life easier," she sighs. "I accept your offer, but mostly because I want to help the girls start paying off those loans before they graduate. Jobs are scarce in these times and I don't want them moving back home and driving _me _crazy."

"Nothing like family to drive you crazy, huh Shonda?" I ask, feeling a bit more cheerful now that she's on board.

"Mmm-hmm," she answers, picking up her ghetto attitude again.

With a nod of the head, she sashays out of the office, swinging her wide hips like she's the _mistress _of the universe. I figure that _she_ will be as good a therapy for Ana as anything else, perhaps even a breath of fresh air.

After she leaves, I get a call from Taylor.

"They both check out," he says wearily.

"Good," I reply. "Because I just hired the nurse."

"What the . . ." he begins. "Oh, I don't give a shit. Will you contact the doctor?"

"Yes."

"Here's her home phone number," he says yawning.

I quickly jot it down on a pad.

"Now, Taylor, go to bed," I say. "Doctor's orders."

"Whatever," he mumbles and hangs up.

Poor Taylor. He's had one hell of a night. So have we all, but he has to live with Christian Grey in the middle of aftermath at home. He's lucky that Gail will keep the household situation under control. At least I know that Grey appreciates everything that he does for him. Despite the fact that he tried to dismiss the wonderful way that he treated him and Gail when they got married as pure self-interest, I know that there's more to it than that.

During those six years when Grey was essentially alone, the time between his affair with Elena and his relationship with Ana, it was Taylor who had been the balm for his paranoid fear of exposure. Quietly and efficiently, Gail Jones (as she was then) kept up with his basic needs from food to laundry. Both are the souls of discretion. They don't make them any more loyal than Taylor, or his wife for that matter. And Grey has been unbelievably supportive in the matter of Taylor's ten-year old daughter, Sophie.

Two years ago, when Sophie's mother decided to move out of state with her second husband, she threatened to cut all ties. Apparently, in the first round of the custody battle at the time of the divorce, she had secured outrageous terms that left Taylor with almost no rights and very sketchy visitation. The outcome of round two was much different.

Grey hired the best family attorney in Seattle and she renegotiated the terms of the agreement. Taylor was granted joint legal custody and better visitation terms . Since his ex-wife was moving out of state, he was granted ten weeks of uninterrupted time in the summer and a week on alternating school holidays, one year she would spend it with him in December for Christmas, and the other in April. Jeannine was fit to be tied when she discovered that she was not entitled to child support payments during the ten week visits.

As soon as she got to Colorado, she went to court to try to regain more control. But once again, Grey hired the best lawyer in Denver. She convinced the judge to listen to Sophie's side of the story. After several months of being away from her father, she cried and begged the judge to let her keep her summer visits. Moved by her tears and obvious love she had for her father, she let the Washington state agreement stand. Then she told Jeannine not to bother her anymore.

Jeannine was understandably pissed, but there was nothing that she could do. When expressed concern about the dangers of Sophie flying in "these times," Christian sent his corporate jet to pick the girl up. In the end, the decision to grant Taylor his extended visitation may have saved Sophie's life. In mid-August of this year, while Sophie was with Taylor, her mother and stepfather were killed in a fiery car wreck on the interstate.

Once again, Grey stepped into the breach to help. He did everything that he could to enable Gail and Jason to raise Sophie full-time. He manages their hours so that one or the other is always available for her. She attends the best private school in the city. Despite his dislike of pets in general, he allowed Sophie to bring her large black Labrador retriever, Magic, up from Colorado.

Even he could not be immune to Sophie's charms. As usual, he brushed it off as the price of doing business, but he is luckier for having her there. Teddy is quite taken with her and she happily threw her energies into helping to care for him while Ana was off having Phoebe. Then she gave him lots of special attention when everyone's focus was on the new baby.

When I asked her about it once, she shyly told me that she had always wanted a little brother. And she said that playing with Teddy helped her to forget her own sadness. She is so charming that she could easily have become the little petted princess of the household, but it is not in her nature to manipulate those around her like that. Instead, she unobtrusively helps out when needed and asks for very little in return.

Breaking out of my contemplation about the Taylors, I know that I have to call Charlotte Tyler to see if she will be willing to move temporarily to Seattle to take over Ana Grey's care. It wouldn't be an overly burdensome duty and should leave her plenty of time for writing. I am hoping that Ana's case will engage her. I know that once she meets her, she will be as fascinated as I am that such a meek little creature could engage interest, not to mention heart, of the almighty and powerful Christian Grey.

She picks up on the phone on first ring.

"Charlotte Tyler," she says cordially.

"Dr. Tyler," I respond. "This is Dr. John Flynn in Seattle. I have a patient that I hope that you will be able to help."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Flynn, but I'm confused," she replies. "How did you get my private number?"

Whoops! Slip up number one. It isn't always easy to remember that Grey has access to all kinds of information that average people don't. I had gotten the number from Taylor of course. I decide to be honest from the beginning.

"Dr. Tyler, I apologize if you feel that I have invaded your privacy, but the patient is the wife of a very wealthy man and in rather precarious condition," I reply. "The patient in question is Ana Grey, the wife of Christian Grey of Grey Enterprises Holding."

"What is the problem?" she asks immediately, her voice laced with concern.

"Last night, or rather early this morning," I begin. "Mrs. Grey left her home to attempt to follow the 'silver path,' as she called it, to the moon. Unfortunately, this involved walking off the property and directly into Puget Sound, barefoot and in her nightgown. Luckily, the security people picked her up on the CCTV as she was leaving the house. One of them was able to rescue her before she could drown."

"Why do they think that she would have drowned?" she asks quietly.

"She walked straight into the water, submerged, and made no attempt to resurface on her own," I answer.

"Does she know how to swim?" she asks curiously.

"Yes," I reply. "But as I said, she made no effort to save herself. The guard who pulled her out had to get her breathing again. The bigger danger at that point was hypothermia. They were able to keep her warm enough to get her to the hospital safety."

"So her physical condition is stable?" she asks concisely.

I can hear the sound of a pen scratching on paper. This is a good sign that I will be able to persuade her to come up.

"Physically," I answer. "There are no ill effects. However, I have placed her on a 72 hour hold to keep her in hospital on a psych watch. She has no memory of the event other than following the silver path. She is very angry at me right now because she wants to return home to her husband and children."

"How old are the children?" she asks.

"Two and a half and three months," I reply.

"Has she been showing signs of depression recently?" she continues.

"I will describe her behavior as I know it," I answer. "She is having trouble sleeping at night and is often tired during the day. She shows a lack of appetite. Prior to giving birth to her daughter three months ago, she was the very active CEO of her own publishing company. But now she has lost all interest."

"When did she go back to work after the birth of her first child?" she asks.

"She returned in about six weeks, but on a modified schedule," I reply. "Even when he was first born, she was in constant contact with her PA. Since the beginning of that pregnancy, she had been working via both tele-commuting and physical commuting. After Phoebe was born, she lost all interest."

"Has she said why?"

"She tends to dodge that question when asked," I say. "Her focus has shifted entirely to the children. She almost never leaves them, but when she must, she will only leave them in the care of her housekeeper."

"Libido?"

"Down to zero, according to her husband," I reply. "He also happens to be my patient."

"What is his reaction to all of this?" she asks.

"He feels lost and confused," I answer.

"Angry?"

"No, not at all," I comment. "Even though he feels helpless. He does not like it when things in his life are out of control."

"Are you calling me for a consult regarding your patient?" she asks.

Now I have to get to the hard part. I can tell that she is interested, but I just don't know how interested. I don't want to make another slip up, but I don't have a lot of time to play around with this. I really want her up here today.

"Actually, she is not my patient," I admit. "She has . . . er, refused my offers of help. In fact, right now she is downright mad at me for keeping her in hospital. She has somewhat accepted the idea of being treated by a specialist and her husband will spare no expense. But it had to be anyone but me. To cut to the chase, Dr. Tyler, I want to know if you would be willing to take the case."

There is silence on the other end of the line.

"I live in Los Angeles," she replies dryly. "Were you thinking that we could Skype our sessions?"

"No," I reply. "As I said before, Mr. Grey is willing to pay any price to care for his wife. If you would be willing to temporarily relocate to Seattle to oversee Mrs. Grey's treatment, he would provide you with whatever housing accommodations that you wish and pay whatever salary you name."

"You approve of him throwing around his money like this?" she asks curiously.

"Well, it is his money to throw," I comment. "And if he is spending a lot of money on her care it will make him feel better, as if he is in control."

"Does he know that he is not?" she then asks.

"Well," I hedge. "On a purely theoretical level I believe that he does not. He is still thinking that if he puts the right pieces in place then he can fix her with relatively little difficulty. However, in his heart of hearts, I suspect that he knows that it will not be that easy. He is deeply in love with her. This may sound sentimental, but they are true soul mates."

"But you know that he can't control this," she says. "All around, this situation sounds heartbreaking."

"That is why he is my patient," I explain. "Among other things, he is obsessed with control and the safety of his wife and children. I have been working with him for four and a half years and have made great progress towards tempering these urges. However, we still have a long way to go. If I am going to continue to effectively treat him, I am going to have to make sure that Mrs. Grey is getting the proper care also. He brought her to me a few weeks ago, but as soon as she sensed his concerns and my interest in them, she rallied for a while."

"And you are sure that is I who can help her?" she asks. "She sounds Ike a smart lady."

"To be perfectly honest," I admit. "I am not really sure about anything anymore. About all that I know is that even if Mrs. Grey was willing to work with me, I would be out of my depth as to her issues. As far as I can tell, she is in complete denial. And so far, I cannot think of a single reason to hold her past the 72 hour prescribed period."

"You probably will not either," she replies. "It sounds as if she will behave herself while she is with you so that she can go back home and it will simply be a matter of time before she returns, quite probably involuntarily."

"If you were to take her on as your patient," I hypothesize. "What would you do?"

"I would probably spend time with her while she was in the hospital seeing how much I can get out of her," she says. "Not to mention, trying to gain her trust. If I can't do that, than there is no point in my staying beyond the three days."

"And if you did gain her trust?" I ask hopefully.

"After she went home, I would insist on daily sessions of talk therapy," she answers. "Tell me, is she nursing her infant?"

"Yes," I say. "And that does complicate things."

"Perhaps," she says. "But I prefer to start with talk therapy rather than pills anyway. I think that too many of our colleagues do things in the wrong order. Once the patient feels the benefits of the anti-depressant, she is less likely to feel inclined to talk. The anti-depressant masks the symptoms that sent her into the hospital to begin with, but doesn't do anything to address the problem.

"If things prove out to be rooted in a chemical imbalance treatable by drug therapy then a pill makes sense. The right drug can be a silver bullet in those cases. But it is too early to tell in this case. And if she had to stop nursing that could create a setback in her treatment. It's an important part of her connection to her child and a potential deterrent to her attempting to harm herself. No, I would prefer to hold that option in reserve."

I immediately like her approach, which is very similar to my own. I view pills as a second, rather than a first, step. Then Dr. Tyler speaks again.

"So is she up in the psych ward right now?" she asks.

"Actually," I say reluctantly. "She is in one of the most posh hospital rooms that I have ever seen. And her husband is having her food catered in from the best hotel in town."

"I am not sure if that is good or bad," she remarks. "But I suppose that you want a decision now."

"Please," I reply. "If you want to take the case on a three day trial basis, Mr. Grey will send his corporate jet down to pick you up later this morning."

"Well, this could be nothing if not interesting," she muses. "I'll tell you what. I will come up today and definitely stay until Mrs. Grey leaves the hospital. If things go well and she accepts me as her doctor, then you can make living arrangements for me. Since I have no patients that I am working with now, I could simply continue writing my book up there. But if she refuses me as her doctor, I will not stay."

"I understand completely, Doctor," I reply. "I will have Grey's man call you later with the logistical arrangements. His name is Taylor, Jason Taylor. He is one of the men who saved Mrs. Grey."

"Good, I would like to speak to him," she says. "As well as any nurses who are working with Mrs. Grey."

"There is only one," I reply. "Her private nurse is Shonda Lewis. She has many years experience as a psych nurse. She is the best in the hospital."

"Good," she says. "I will see you later today."

After I hang up, I realize that we have not talked price. Oh well, it doesn't matter anyway. Grey will pay whatever she asks for. He is lucky. I don't think that she will gouge him. Although with Ana's life at stake, no price is to high to pay for her recovery.

Having finished up with my organizing, I decide to nap in the on call room with the residents. Grey will be in before the morning is out, so there is not much point in going home. Sacking out there reminds me of my own residency years.

When we go in to visit with Ana, she immediately goes on the attack again. She refuses to listen to anything that I have to say. I can see that it is pointless for me to remain and that she and Christian need time alone together. That's fine with me.

Then, after I have left Christian and Ana together, I have a word with Shonda about how things are going.

"Little missy tried to pull her 'lady of the manor' attitude on me," grumbles Shonda. "I put her in her place real fast."

"But you'll still take care of her?" I ask anxiously.

"Oh, she's not so bad," she replies. "She's nice and quiet. Doesn't throw anything or holler like a banshee. As these kinds of patients go, she's really pretty easy, even if she is cranky."

"Enough editorializing," I say. "What's the behavior like?"

"Well, I do believe that she has figured out that if she be a good little girl that you all will have to let her out," she says. "All Dr. Trevelyan had to do was a give a little hint and encouragement and she was up out of bed and eating, showering, and changing her clothes very docilely, even pumped her breasts. Don't blame her for not wanting to do that. But if she hadn't it would have hurt like hell and I would have got stuck listening to it."

"Well, that is what I figured would happen," I answer. "Oh, and Dr. Tyler will be arriving this afternoon, so you'll get to meet the great lady herself."

"I wish that I had my books with me. I'd like to get her to sign them," she says.

"You may get that wish," I reply. "I am hoping to convince her to move to Seattle for a bit to take care of Mrs. Grey."

"That would be nice," she says. "Maybe she can get through that thick skull of hers that she actually needs some care or she gonna blow."

"Blow?"

"That lady, Ana, puts on a real good act, but she can't fool old Shonda," she replies smartly. "Underneath all that bravado, she is one big bundle of nerves. And she's scared to death of what might happen to her. That's why she can't wait to get out of here."

"What's she scared of?"

"Don't know," she answers. "She's real good at hiding something. I think that she's afraid that if she stays here too long, we might figure it out. Poor lady! She misses her babies real bad."

Thinking of my own wife, Rhian, and her singular devotion to our two sons, I have a good idea of what she means.

"Thanks a lot," I say thoughtfully. "I'll see you later, Shonda."

"See you later," she says. "By the way, this really is a pretty good gig. It's nice and quiet with not much to do except babysit. I may get a lot of reading done."

"I hope that it stays that way," I say as I leave.

After checking on a couple of patients, I go home for a brief rest. Dr. Tyler won't be in until late afternoon so I can probably get in forty winks before the fun starts again. I really hope that Dr. Tyler will be able to help poor Ana. After everything that girl has been through, she deserves a happy life. But Shonda's insight only confirms what I have suspected about Ana all along. Her low self-esteem has roots way back in her life.

Despite all of his assurances to the contrary, she has still not fully come to grips with the fact that Christian's love for her is unconditional and that she is worthy of it. I am also afraid that she may feel that she doesn't deserve her two beautiful children. Hopefully, Charlotte Tyler will be able to find the key to unlock some of those insecurities that she has been holding onto for so long.


	8. Readjustment

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 7: Readjustment**

The return drive home after my visit with Ana is silent. It isn't that Taylor and I usually have large discussions during our rides, but I do normally enjoy listening to music. However, today there was no soothing orchestral piece ever written that could shake me from my gloom. I wanted to think. I wanted to replay every second of our visit.

She was certainly looking better, sitting up in the recliner, wearing her jeans and tee shirt. She looked very much like herself again. She had eaten, so there was a little color back in her cheeks and she had obviously showered. She was angry and sarcastic with Flynn. It is no wonder that he wants to bring in a specialist.

I was disturbed when I heard that her nurse had been giving her some attitude, but Ana didn't want her to be replaced. I don't really much care one way or another. Flynn says that she is the best and since Ana doesn't really mind her, I let it go. Maybe Ana could use a little bit of attitude rather than sympathy at the moment.

After Flynn left us alone, I took Ana into my arms and onto my lap. Since very early in our relationship, I have always known that this is where she feels safest. Not surprisingly, she fell asleep. Mother had sat up with her throughout the night and said that she had been restless. Now she seemed to be somewhat at peace. In my arms, she felt very small and fragile. I would have been happy to sit with her all day, but I had other matters to worry about.

I noticed Mr. Hoppy lying on the chair. After I put Ana to bed, I set him beside the clock on her nightstand. I wanted him to be the first thing that she saw when she woke up. I made a mental note to bring her some pictures of the children and the rest of the family to put on the nightstand as well. On the way out, I told Sawyer that he, my mother, and myself were the only ones allowed to see Ana, except for the doctors and nurses. He nodded, but I could sense him mentally wincing, no doubt thinking of the persistence of Kate and Mia. No one else would be a problem.

However the last thing that Ana needed was Kate grilling her about what happened, chastising her for it, and then telling her what to do in the future. Mia would be bursting with a combination of concern and enthusiasm for making her feel better. Ana was definitely not up for a "Mia Grey assault." Putting those thoughts aside, I focus on my own next few tasks.

The first priority is lunch with Teddy. He will be pleased to know that Ana has gotten Mr. Hoppy. He had wanted to be certain that she was not all alone. I have the breast milk in the insulated bag for Phoebe. If she continues to be a problem with her feeding, I might have to ask permission to bring her in to visit with Ana. This of course would entail bringing Ted as well. I am not sure of how Ana's new doctor will feel about our traveling circus coming to town, but it is certainly worth finding out. And one of the reasons that she is in the private suite is for unlimited visitation.

I know that I am placing a great deal of hope in her sight unseen, but I am taking Flynn at his word when he said that she was the very best. Taylor has done a thorough background check and everything was in order. She has even written a couple of books on women and girls' psychology.

As we pull into the driveway, everything looks deceptively peaceful, normal. Ana's meadow has browned out into winter's grasses. The clouds are hanging low over the Sound, but it is not stormy. In fact, it looks the same as it always has for these almost past three years that we have lived here. It is our very own tranquil, idyllic retreat from the rest of the world.

Taylor pulls up to the front door and lets me out. As I enter the foyer, a small bundle of energy flies at me, and jumps into my arms.

"Daddy!" Teddy yells.

The normalcy of my return home almost brings tears to my eyes. Every evening when I come home from work, I am greeted with the same enthusiasm. I hug my son and he drops his head on my shoulder. Then he pats my back.

"There, there, Daddy," he tries to comfort me. "Mommy home soon."

For a minute I almost can't stand it. My two-year old son is trying to console me when he must be missing her twice as much as I am. Then Gail walks briskly in with Phoebe on her hip.

"Lunch in ten, sir?" she asks.

"Sounds good," I answer trying to keep my voice light. "What's on the menu?"

"Mac and cheese!" cries Teddy. "Man food!"

In spite of myself, I have to smile. Ana always teases me that I like "nursery food," just as if I am a big kid. When Teddy was old enough to realize what she meant, he crossed his little arms, stamped his foot, and refused to eat "baby food." That was when I jumped in and told him that Mommy was wrong, and that macaroni and cheese is man food. Periodically, Gail makes it for us and we "won't let Mommy have any." Ana likes it, but not enough to ruin Teddy's game. It will be interesting to see what happens if Phoebe likes it too, and she probably will.

Lunch is a relatively calm affair compared with breakfast. It is just the kids and me. I put myself on the opposite side of the table from Ted to save me from another change of clothing. Gail is grateful for the breast milk and goes to set up a bottle. As she is preparing to feed the baby, I ask for them.

There is really very little I can do for Phoebe but this, unless I want to start changing diapers, which I don't. I am sure that she knows that Ana isn't here, but she has no way of communicating that. Once again, I settle us in. This time I feel more confident.

Phoebe drinks up quickly (she must be very hungry by now) and promptly falls asleep. Thankfully, she holds it all down. Now that he is full of macaroni and cheese, Teddy is also looking droopy and is very cooperative about naptime. Once the children are put down, Gail and I go downstairs to talk.

"How is Ana, Mr. Grey?" she asks, her eyes now filling with the concern that she has been masking with cheerfulness for the sake of the children.

"Physically, she is fully recovered," I reply. "On the other hand mentally . . . "

"Did she say anything about the um . . . accident?" she asks.

"Only that she doesn't remember it," I say. "She says that she is fine and wants to come home. She really misses the children."

"Is there any chance that they could visit her?" she continues.

"I plan to bring them in tonight if the doctor agrees," I answer. "Because of her private suite, they can really come at any time. It will be easier for both her and Phoebe, if she can nurse sometimes. I was wondering about something. I was hoping that Sophie can come to help with Teddy. I am afraid that he might feel jealous if Ana gives so much attention to the baby."

"It won't bother him as much as you would think," replies Gail. "He is used to sharing, especially when the baby is nursing. And Ana is very adept at sharing her attention when she has them together. But we can bring Sophie. She has been worried about Ana. I hope that it's okay to assume that I would be coming also."

"Well, you're not presently on the 'guest list,' so to speak, but I don't think it will be a problem."

"Guest list?" she asks. "I thought that because of the private suite, her visitors were relatively unlimited."

I know that I am grimacing.

"Ana only wants to see Mother and me," I explain. "She specifically doesn't want to see Ray or Kate because she doesn't want to hear it from them. I think that she is somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing. And you know how Elliot would tease and Mia would gush and hover. I think that she is looking to avoid strong emotions at the moment. But since you can tell her all the details about the children, I am sure that she will want to see you."

"Is there a treatment plan in the works?" she asks.

Now I sigh.

"Well, chances are that she will be home in a couple of days," I reply. "Flynn is bringing in a specialist from LA, a Dr. Charlotte Tyler. If things go well while she's still in the hospital, Dr. Tyler will take her on as a patient."

"I've heard of her," she says. "In fact, she is probably the same Dr. Charlotte Tyler who writes all the books about girls and women."

"Have you read any?" I ask curiously.

"One of Sophie's teachers recommended Tyler's book on children and grief when I went in for parent conferences," she replied. "It was very thought provoking. She seems to know women and children well. It gave me a better understanding of what Sophie is going through. The girl is so self-contained that it's hard to tell what she is thinking."

"Do you have a copy of the book around?" I ask. "I'd like to look at it to get an idea of where she is coming from."

"It's over in the apartment," she answers. "I've been trying to get Jason to read it, but he's so busy that he doesn't get much time."

"Thanks," I say. "And thank you for all of your help with this situation. I really don't know what we would do without you. But now I have to call Mother. I am hoping that she will take care of dealing with the rest of the family and the visitor restrictions. Sawyer knows the deal, but I don't want him to have to deal with any tenacious family members who might try to bully their way in."

"Of course," she says, as she rises. "I will leave you to your business."

Calling up Mother is easier than I thought it would be. She has already spoken to John, so I don't have to go through the whole song and dance again. And she is perfectly willing to talk to the family about the restricted visitation rules. She has also heard of Dr. Tyler and speaks very highly of her. In fact, she had read several of her books. By the time I get off the phone with her, I feel somewhat better. My mood has lifted from where it was when we pulled up to the house earlier. In fact, I feel that I can concentrate well enough to catch up on some work before my session with Flynn.

When Taylor drives me back into the city for my appointment with Flynn, I can tell that he is more rested. In addition to lack of sleep, he has also been under the strain of reorganizing the security team with Ana now in the hospital.

This drive is a bit better than the earlier one. I allow him to turn on some music. I even feel a little guilty as I realize that I am relaxing a bit. I feel like I should be more anxious about not knowing how things will work out for Ana. This is the first thing that I bring up when I speak with Flynn.

"Christian," he says. "This is a perfectly normal response. Your body cannot take the strain of being in the state of constant high alert. You have just come through an extremely stressful time. You have also done everything humanly possible to initiate the best possible treatment for Ana. In fact, Ana and Dr. Tyler are having their initial meeting as we speak."

"Do you really think that it will work?" I ask.

"Right now it is going to come down to whether or not she and Ana are a good match as therapist and patient," he replies honestly. "Tyler may be the best around in her field, but if she cannot establish a relationship of trust with Anastasia, she will bow out. She is that much of a professional, no matter how much money you offer her."

"Have you met her?" I ask.

"Actually, we were just discussing the case at the hospital before I came back here," he says. "She is very interested in Ana and her issues, but she can only help her if Ana is open to accepting her help."

"But Ana doesn't think that she needs help," I say.

"And she will hardly be the first patient that Dr. Tyler has treated who didn't think that she needed help in the beginning," he replies sanguinely. "It goes along with the territory. Acknowledging that you need help is the first step towards recovery. But I am not really interested in talking about Ana. How are you doing?"

"I'm not sure," I answer. "I can't think of another situation in my life that has any parallel. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that Ana tried to do away with herself, but I did see her right after Sawyer pulled her out of the Sound. The anger at being held in the hospital is completely in character with her independent nature, as is how much she is missing the children."

"So what is your immediate instinct in terms of how to deal with this?" he asks.

"I want to keep her safe," I reply instantly. "I've had time to think about it and, you know, all that SBFT crap that you're always spouting. If I can only set one goal for the immediate future, it is to keep her safe. However, real difficulty with this goal is that the person who is interfering the most with Ana's safety, is, Ana herself, of course."

"So what else is new?" he replies. "That's another aspect of her behavior that is completely within character."

"Come again?"

"How quickly you forget," he says wryly. "I recall several instances where she had you in a raging fury because she had put herself at risk and you were powerless to stop it."

"Oh, yeah," I answer slowly. "In particular there was that one incident when I was in New York and she, against my direct orders, was out drinking with Kate."

"Yes, that was back in the day when you thought that it was your right to give the orders and her responsibility to obey," he comments. "As I recall, you punished her after that pretty severely."

"And I felt pretty shitty afterwards," I admit. "I've never reacted like that to one of her foolhardy escapades in that way since."

"I can't think of anything that foolhardy that she has had," he responds. "Except for the near catastrophe with Hyde."

"But at least she was aware of what she was doing back," I say. "Now she isn't even fully cognizant of her own actions, much less what the consequences might be."

"So this is scarier," he states.

"Much," I reply. "And I feel even more powerless than before. I mean, it's not like I can lock her in her room. And even if I did, I'm sure there are still ways that she could find to harm herself."

"Your old first response would have been to punish her," he reminds me.

"And what good would that do?" I ask. "It never did any good in the past. Besides, I don't want to punish her for her recklessness anymore. I want to help her. She scared the hell out of me last night. But it's hard to help her because she is so stubborn."

"You're right about that," he says. "So to get back to your original statement and perhaps refine it, your primary goal is to keep Ana safe, but the reality is that you feel powerless to do so without her cooperation, which is tough to get when she really has no sense of self-preservation. She is not even fully in control of her decision making process."

"True," I agree. "But my goal is still to keep her safe. I just have to figure out how to do it."

I feel more determined about this than I have felt in a long time. He looks at me thoughtfully.

"That's excellent," he finally says. "If your single-minded goal is to keep her safe, and you don't know how to achieve it. Then you will be open to trying a variety of options, I suppose."

"Willing to listen," I answer. "But no _carte blanche. _I want to be able to discuss any suggestions. And I want to give Ana some say. As you have clearly articulated, Ana needs to buy in or it won't work."

He gives me a small smile.

"You know, Christian," he says. "If we weren't facing such a challenging and potentially serious situation, I would be happy for you. You have been working very hard the past few years to get past your control issues and paranoid fear of your family's safety. The fact that you are willing to cede some control of the situation, despite your own fears, to your wife, is excellent. You have just taken a very important step forward."

"It's hard to look at it that way," I comment. "The price of this big step forward is terribly steep."

"Think about it this way then," he replies. "This crisis could have either set in motion a big step forward or a big step back. You are moving in a very positive direction. Remember, it's not a matter of whether or not shit will happen in your life. Shit will happen and you can't control it. The only thing that you can control is your own response. You have to be willing to know your limitations and accept them."

"You know that is really very ironic," I say. "BDSM scenes require a great knowledge of self-limitations. In fact, I was always saying that to Ana. She was never very good at recognizing her limits and articulating them. It was very frustrating. Who knew that the concept could have an application in real life?"

"Who knew?" he questions rhetorically. "Now I have an important question for you. As you have probably already figured out, Ana may be unavailable to you as a lover for quite some time as she works this out for herself. You are a man of, shall we say, voracious sexual appetites. How do you plan on handling that?"

At first, I am very pissed that he would even think of asking that question. But then I realize that he has to. He knows me inside and out. He is just testing the limits of how much I have changed. Here goes nothing.

"John, the very thought of cheating on Ana makes me sick," I state firmly. "She is my wife and partner in life. When I married her it was in sickness and in health. If this isn't sickness then I don't know what is. Besides, sex with anyone else would be an empty physical act.

"One of the reasons why I married her was because I didn't want any more sexual partners. We are lovers and that's for life. There is no one but Anastasia for me. I will not turn my back on my vow to forsake all others just because the going gets tough. But I'm not insulted. I know that you have to ask."

"I suspected that would be your answer," he says. "But as you say, I had to ask."

"Why would you have suspected that?" I wonder.

"You already know a great deal of self-control," he replies with a shrug. "All of your relationships prior to Ana were monogamous and in between partners you were celibate. You have had some practice at this. And I know how you feel about your wife. I highly doubt that you will even be tempted."

"I won't," I assure him. "Is there anything else that I can do now?"

"The most important thing for you to do now is to be patient," he says. "This is not a quick and easy process and there are no timetables. It may take a while for Ana to realize how much help she needs. But that is something that can't be rushed."

"At this point, what is the best thing that I can do?"

"Love and support her, but don't smother her," he answers. "Give her help, but don't make her feel helpless. And continue to curb your own desire for control. Let her take the lead."

"What if she tries something dangerous?"

"_That_ is the situation where you should take as much control as you need to keep her safe," he says. "Listen to what Dr. Tyler tells you and try to do it. But don't nag Ana, when _she _doesn't follow through on instructions. That is a surefire way to get her to behave in oppositional ways. And we have certainly seen her do that before. You are walking a fine line."

"I'm just afraid of doing something that might make things worse," I comment.

He looks thoughtful for a minute before he speaks.

"After an incident like the one last night, my patients often complain that when they return home they feel like everyone is walking on egg shells around them," he says. "And that makes them feel more stressed out. Now, in this matter, you are very lucky you have Teddy, because I picture him stomping on eggshells rather than tiptoeing. By the way, it was very sweet the way that he had sent Ana the rabbit."

"Yes, it was," I reply. "And when I came home for lunch, he patted me on the back and gave me a 'there, there.'"

"He's a sensitive child," he says. "You have to remember that. And he's very bright, so he takes in everything. Don't lie when he asks pertinent questions. but keep your answers simple and withhold whatever you need to keep him feeling safe. But he'll also keep it real for you all. Children do that, you know."

When I leave Flynn's office, my heart feels somewhat lighter. I am going to return home and have dinner with my kids and then I'm going to call Dr. Tyler. If she gives the okay,

we are all going over to the hospital with Gail and Sophie. Hopefully, things went well between Ana and Dr. Tyler. Of course with the kids around, we won't really be able to discuss that, but maybe it's better. Ana's probably sick of talking about all that shit anyway.

**To my readers: Please be patient waiting for the next update. It is a difficult chapter because it will be about when Ana meets Dr. Charlotte Tyler for the first. Hopefully, it will be worth waiting for.**


	9. Introductions

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 8: Introductions**

"Ana," says Shonda, shaking me. "Your new doctor is here to see you."

"Tell her to go away and come back when I am awake," I mumble.

"Tell her, yourself!" she replies smartly, and then leaves.

I turn over and look up at the woman neatly dressed, standing by my bed. She looks more like a college professor than a doctor, with her soft-brown hair with its streaks of grey twisted back in a bun, and wearing a heavy maroon cardigan, off-white blouse, and grey skirt to the mid-calf. She is wearing sensible, somewhat worn grey pumps. Nothing like the stiletto heels most of the women in my life wear.

Compared with the people that I work with, socialize with, and employ, she is not exactly well groomed. Her make up is non-existent and there is no evidence of a manicure. Yet, her simple style, though by no means elegant, is both attractive and comforting. While she is not overweight, she is not even close to svelte. In fact, she looks very . . . normal. The concerned look in her hazel eyes is reflected in her tentative smile. Politely, she extends her hand.

"Mrs. Grey," she says, with a distinct Midwestern accent. "My name Dr. Charlotte Tyler. I am pleased to meet you."

"Ana," I reply in a more irritated tone than I intend. "How do you do?"

"Please call me Charlotte. I'm doing well," she answers. "But it doesn't appear that you are."

"What was your first clue?" I ask sarcastically, even though I kind of like her, it's the principal of the matter.

"Let's see," she replies candidly. "You are lying in a hospital bed because you were brought in last night after trying to drown yourself in Puget Sound. You are looking very annoyed with me because I have disturbed your nap. You miss your kids and you just want to go home to them. And to top it all off, you are presently stuck in this room under a 72 hour hold because your husband's shrink put you here."

"That's about it," I comment disagreeably. "Except that you neglected to mention that I'm extra cranky because my boobs hurt because I need to nurse my baby."

Do you want to pump?" she asks.

"No, would you?" I reply sharply. "But I probably need to."

"Needs and wants are two different things," she replies. "Yes, you're stuck here. But it's not all bad."

"Really?" I say, my voice now dripping with sarcasm.

"On the plus side," she continues, ignoring my tone. "You are in the most elegant hospital suite that I have ever seen and are having your meals catered in, no green Jello for you. That is, when you remember to order them. You had breakfast at ten this morning and have not eaten since."

"I've been sleeping, remember? What time is it now?"

"Four. Are you hungry? Would you like Mr. Sawyer to get you something?" she asks solicitously.

"No," I say sullenly. "I'm not hungry. And now I suppose that you are going to count that against me too."

"Who said I was counting anything?" she asks.

"That's what you're here to do, isn't it?" I ask back. "My husband has hired you to cure me of whatever he and Flynn thinks is wrong with me. But first you have to keep me here indefinitely to keep me safe. How much is he paying you? Do you get a bonus if I get well extra quickly."

"You certainly have a lot of latent hostility," she comments noncommittally. "But we need to get something straight. Your husband has not hired me to cure you, so to speak. I have come up to consult with Dr. Flynn to see what your best course of treatment might be. I am the so-called second opinion. Technically, I have not been hired."

"Yet," I say meaningfully.

"No, that's not the way that this works," she continues. "I have seen your records, talked to your doctor and nurse, and now have come in to speak with _you_ face-to-face. At the moment, I am not interested in other people's impressions or opinions of you. I prefer to form my own impressions and opinions, thank you very much. If I think that I can help you, then I will offer to act as your doctor and therapist. However, you are the patient, not your husband or his doctor. You have final veto power if you don't like or trust me."

She is looking at me directly in the eye. I can tell that she is a very honest person, and that she doesn't take any shit from anyone. Despite her meek, mild-mannered appearance, she has a will of iron and nerves of steel. And I have to admire her guts. There are very few people I know who don't easily give in to Christian's demands. In fact, the only two I know are Flynn and I. Maybe this isn't as bad as I think.

"So you're not on the payroll?" I ask.

"Only as a consultant," she replies. "This is not about money. To be honest, I don't need your money. I have a very comfortable life down in LA and right now I am taking some time off from my practice to write a book."

"Oh," I answer. "Is it your first book?"

"No," she says. "I have written several others. I understand that you are a publisher."

"Technically speaking," I answer honestly. "I am the CEO of Grey Publishing. But since my daughter was born, I haven't been much interested in the company."

"What have you been interested in?" she asks, ignoring the part about my lack of interest in my career.

"Nothing," is my most immediate thought, but that's not entirely true.

"My daughter and also my son," I say. "I like spending time with them. They are easy."

"Easier than what?" she asks.

"I don't know," I shrug.

And then I realize that I have probably been saying too much.

"You look worried," she says.

"I'm afraid that I'm saying too much," I reply.

"Can you explain what you mean by that?" she asks curiously.

"Well, I know that if I say the wrong thing, then I could get stuck here a lot longer," I answer. "But I'm not sure of what I have to say or do to get out."

"Well, then why don't you just tell the truth about what you think and feel?" she suggests. "I'm not here to find reasons for you to stay in the hospital against your will. I am very interested in you as a person. But I have no intention of forcing myself on you as your doctor. By the way, are you going to introduce me to your strange bedfellow over there?"

She is looking at Mr. Hoppy. I look back at her sheepishly when I realize that he has been cuddled under my arm since she walked in.

"This is Mr. Hoppy," I explain. "My son sent him to me, to keep me company."

"He sounds like a sweet boy," she replies. "Why did he send him?"

"He didn't say," I answer. "I just found it when I unpacked the clothes that Gail, our housekeeper sent. Christian said that Teddy helped her pack."

"Is she with the children now?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply. "She's the only one that I trust with them. That's okay, isn't it? Everyone says that I'm too overprotective."

"It's perfectly normal," she says immediately. "I've known mothers who would only trust their children with the grandparents. You're lucky that you have someone that you can trust like that."

"Yes, I am," I say. "Gail and her husband Jason Taylor have been working for my husband for seven years now. I don't know what we would do without them."

"It's important to trust the people who take care of you," she says significantly.

"My husband says that you're an expert," I respond.

"So?" she says. "I could be the foremost authority in the world, but if you and I can't get along or you don't trust me, then I won't take you as my patient. And you have be willing to cooperate in your treatment."

"What would you treat me for?" I ask.

"Well, at the moment I am not sure," she says. "Mental illnesses, if they exist in a patient, are often a subjective diagnosis based on symptoms and behaviors. There are no X-rays or blood tests or MRIs to go by. That's why we are talking. I am not specifically looking for anything other than information. Once I have that, I may be able to make a diagnosis."

"Okay," I say. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, the first thing that I want to know is what you think happened last night," she replies.

"Haven't they told you already?" I ask testily.

"Yes," she says patiently. "I have heard several accounts, but I want your account. I want you to start at the beginning and tell me what you remember. I'm not sure that you have done that yet."

I think for a minute. So far, everyone has been telling me what I did, but they haven't really asked me to actually tell the story in my own words. I feel kind of uncomfortable because now some parts are very fuzzy. It's hard to know what exactly I remember or what I have been told so often that I think that I remember.

"I'll try," I say. "But it's hard. It feels like so many people have been telling me so many things that I don't know what I know anymore."

"I know it's hard," she says gently. "And probably painful. All that I want you to do is tell me what _you _remember. I don't care want anyone else says or thinks. The only one whose opinions matter is you."

I finally work up the courage to meet her gaze dead on. Her gentle eyes are kind and thoughtful. It makes me wonder about her. Maybe after I tell her my story, she will answer some questions about herself for me. After all, if I'm going to hire her as my therapist, I should be allowed to conduct a job interview. I close my eyes and try to put myself back in my bedroom at home, which is the last place that I remember being before I woke up in the hospital.

"It was very late and I was standing and watching my baby, Phoebe, sleep," I recall. "She's such a tiny thing compared with Teddy, my two-year old. In fact she has only just reached his birth weight. He was such a big boy that I couldn't push him out. I had to have a C-section. I was very upset about that because he was in distress when I finally gave up. When Phoebe was born, my husband insisted on another C-section."

"That bothered you?" she asks.

"Of course, it bothered me," I reply. "What mother doesn't want to push our her baby?"

"Oh, there are a few out there who don't want the trouble," she replies with a smile. "They like to have a scheduled C-section for lots of reasons, including a desire to be sure to be able to go to social events or they just want to pick the baby's birth date. Or they are just plain afraid of the pain."

"Well, anyway," I continue. "I started to think about how inadequate that I feel as a mother. You know? I seems like I can never do enough for the kids. They deserve a better mother than me. And I'm so tired all the time. But then when I lie down I can't sleep. I start to think."

"What do you think about?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say warily. "Stuff."

"Alright," she says, sensing my uneasy mood. "Why don't you tell me how you got from your bedroom and into the water?"

"I honestly don't know," I reply. "Everyone says that I must remember or know something that I'm not telling, but I don't. I remember looking out the window and down the lawn. There was a beautiful silver path to the full moon. I thought that I could follow it. It just looked so peaceful. And most of the time I don't feel peaceful. But I can't think of anything else."

"Did you consciously make a decision to follow the silver path?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "I don't think so, but now I'm not sure. People have been telling me so many things."

"I know that it is hard to separate what you remember from what you have been told, but I really am only interested in what you know and remember," she says gently. "And if you don't remember, that's okay too. I'm not here to judge. I'm here to listen."

"Then I really can't be sure," I say. "Things feel fuzzy now, out of focus if you know what I mean. It's hard to tell what is a memory and what is a dream. Sometimes the dreams feel so real, but then I wake up and I'm here."

"And you want to be at home," she says.

"I just want to be with my babies," I reply. "I feel like I'll go crazy if I can't see them before this hold is over."

"Well we wouldn't want that to happen," she replies with a little smile. "For you to go crazy that is. This room allows you to have any guests you want any time. There is no reason why the children can't come to visit you. In fact, they can come tonight if it can be arranged."

"Call Sawyer in," I say immediately, forgetting about everything else.

She looks a little surprised at my abruptness, but nevertheless goes to the door and asks Sawyer to come in.

"Sawyer," I say. "Dr. Tyler has given me permission for the children to visit. Can you please contact Taylor and ask him to arrange it?"

Sawyer looks expectantly at Dr. Tyler, who sighs.

"Yes," she says to his silent question. "I gave my permission. I feel that it would be very beneficial for Mrs. Grey to have a visit with her children."

"Yes, ma'am," he says politely. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, Sawyer, and thank you," I reply automatically.

He doesn't move.

"Excuse, Mrs. Grey," he says tentatively. "But are you sure that I can't order some food for you? It's been . . . "

"Yes, I know how long it's been," I answer impatiently.

Dr. Tyler gives me a meaningful look. I know that she wants me to eat something. I sigh. He has probably been driving _him _crazy

"Call up the Fairmont and order me a salad with their house dressing and the chicken francais," I reply. "I'll have a Diet Coke to drink."

"Anything else, ma'am?" he asks in relief. I suppose that he would like to report that I have eaten to keep Christian off his back. He's probably been driving

"No, that's fine," I say. "Would you like anything, doctor?"

"Charlotte, please," she says firmly. "No thank you, I ate on the way up in your husband's private plane."

I roll my eyes. It figures that Christian couldn't resist throwing his impressive wealth around. Dr. Tyler strikes me as the type who would have been completely appreciative of first class on a regular flight. But I suppose that this was the fastest way to get her up here.

"That will be all, then, Sawyer," I say as he turns away.

Then I add, "And thank you. I'm sorry for giving you a hard time. I know that you are only doing your job."

He nods briefly. Like all of our security people, including Taylor, he does a real good impassive expression. In his case, it usually means that he is hiding his emotions. After he walks out, I turn back to Charlotte. She has been watching me intently, but I don't know what she is thinking.

"Will you answer some questions for me now?"

"Of course," she says smoothly. "What would you like to know?"

"How did Flynn find you?"

"He did a search on the Internet, I believe," she says. "Then he gave his name to your head of security, Taylor, who did a background check. This included getting my home phone number. I was very surprised. I make a point of never using my landline for professional business. That's what my cell phone is for."

I sigh.

"That's how it works when you deal with Grey," I say. "My husband, or rather his security people, never ran into a piece of information that they couldn't track down if they searched hard enough. Right after he met me, my husband did a thorough background check. He even knew my employment record, my grades in college, and my bank account number."

"How did that make you feel?" she asks.

"Like I was being stalked," I answer bluntly.

"Good," she says. "Then it's not just me, because that's how I felt when he called. In fact, if Dr. Flynn hadn't kept talking quickly enough, I probably would have hung up on him. I spend much more time in the public light than I prefer. I treasure my privacy."

"So do I," I reply. "I'm stuck in the limelight because I married a billionaire. What's your excuse?"

"Well," she says. "In addition to my practice, I have a fairly prestigious academic reputation. That would normally not make someone like me publicly famous, but then I started writing books."

"What do you write about?" I ask; my interest peaked.

"I wrote my first book about girls and eating disorders," she replies. "Then I wrote another about the changing role of women in the family, and then another about children and grief. It seems that my first book somehow found its way outside of the clinical realm and into the wider world of education and social work. The book was recommended to people who worked with or had children with eating disorders. Next thing I knew, sales exploded and by the time the second book came out, I was a known author.

"It has been very hard to stay out of the public eye. In addition to book signings that my agent arranges I also have schools and universities asking for speaking engagements. I would say no, but I want to raise awareness. And people out there want to know how they can help. I've been pretty much hiding for the past few months to get away from the fuss and bother."

I am impressed. Most authors would give their eyeteeth for that kind of name recognition. But now she has me curious to learn more about her.

"Academic books are hard to sell to the general public because they are usually very intellectual and full of professional jargon," I comment. "How did your books sell so well?"

"When I wrote the books," she says. "I was really writing them for nurses, teachers, and social workers. I wanted to give them ideas for working with their patients. Since I wasn't writing to put out any new research, I filled them with stories from my experience. The names were changed of course and some of the stories were actually combining several patients. I didn't want to break anyone's trust. I guess that it just made the topic accessible. And it is a hot topic."

"Yes, it is," I reply. "We occasionally get submissions like that, but they are usually pretty dry and boring."

"I'm afraid that is how most academics write," she explains. "They are writing for a specific and highly educated audience. Many of them really aren't writers. They are working under the old publish or perish maxim. In order to present new research, they will often delve into esoteric areas. My goal was much simpler. I just wanted to touch people."

"How did you get into psychology?" I ask, my interest now very much engaged.

"I went to college at a time where the field of women's psychology was only just opening up," she says. "At that time, psychology of women courses were few and far between. They were mostly found in Women's Studies departments. They were viewed as more of an elective for non-majors to take rather than a topic worthy of study by a serious psychology student."

"But you took a class anyway," I comment.

"Yes, I did," she says. "And it already confirmed what I had known intuitively. Up until that point, most psychological studies had been performed using men. The results for women were very different and often treated as an aberration to the norm. There was an embedded misogyny in the field. In some cases, it was very blatant. I decided to get my PhD and challenge the old beliefs. I wanted to break a new path into areas that most men wouldn't touch."

"So then you are not a psychiatrist?" I ask.

"Well, eventually I did get my MD," she replies. "I was very interested in the pharmacological aspect of psychiatry. There are so many more drugs out there that actually change brain chemistry that it can be confusing. And the drug companies don't help. They really make a hard sell to physicians after they get them through clinical trials. In some cases, drug therapy can be highly beneficial. Some people do have very real hormonal imbalances in their brains that can be greatly helped with drugs."

"Oh," I say. "If I was your patient, would you give me a happy pill?"

She shakes her head, amused by my terminology.

"I do not like to start out with drug therapy unless it is highly indicated," she answers. "In your case, starting with a pill might do more harm than good. It could mask the symptoms and it would take a lot longer to get to the root of your problem. And you are a nursing mother. You would have to stop because these medications are very dangerous for developing brains."

"You wouldn't force me to quit?" I ask, a little surprised.

"Actually," she explains. "Nursing produces a very beneficial hormonal effect in the mother. You would lose more by quitting nursing than you would gain by a "happy pill" at this point."

"Oh," I reply, wondering if she had an children and perhaps had nursed herself. "Are you married? Do you have children?"

"No and no," she says easily. "I've never married. I enjoy my peaceful and solitary existence. When I leave work, I like to be by myself. And I've never met the right person."

"So you never felt inclined to marry because all of your friends were?" I ask, thinking of her age.

"Well, I suppose that it could have been harder if I had paid to much attention to what my classmates in college were doing," she admits. "But my generation is a real cusp generation in that there were those of us who felt, and actually got approval for thinking, that a woman could have a very fulfilling and satisfying life without being tied down to a husband."

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I turned fifty-four on my last birthday," she says easily. "I'm a little too young to have been an all out 'bra burning women's libber,' but too old for the generation that slipped more naturally into the lifestyle of the career woman with a family."

I look at her closely. I wouldn't have guessed that she was that old. But she looks very relaxed and comfortable in her own identity. I hate to admit it, but I like her. So far she has not tried to bowl me over with her credentials or try to worm her way into my good graces. She isn't trying to sell me anything that I don't want to buy. She is simply offering me her services, take it or leave it. I know that I sound as though I am interviewing her for a job, but what the hell? In essence, that is what I am doing.

"If you took over my case," I say. "What would you do first?"

"I'd send you home in the morning," she readily replies. "Even though I'm sure that it would upset your husband very much. You are obviously miserable here. I can't tell if you are miserable from being here or because, according to the reports that I've heard, you are unhappy with life in general."

"Oh," I say quietly.

"Looking at this purely from a perspective of what is more beneficial to you, being in or out of the hospital," she continues. "I see no great benefit in you being cooped up in here when you could be home with your children."

"Are you saying this so that I will agree to hire you?" I ask, more sharply than I intend.

"To be perfectly honest," she says. "I don't care if you hire me or not. As I told you before, I don't need your money. I came up because after what Dr. Flynn told me about you, I wanted to meet you in person and hear your story. Having met you, I am willing to work with you. But that is not the point. You have to be willing to work with me."

Her hazel eyes are brimming with sincerity. Suddenly, I don't know what I want to do. I am grateful that she has arranged for the kids to visit me. And the idea that she would send me home tomorrow is very appealing. But still . . . I am uncertain.

"Can I think about it tonight?" I ask. "I'm not sure of what I should do."

"Of course," she says smoothly. "I have agreed to stay until the end of the 72 hour hold. I believe that there was an expectation on your husband's part that I would hold you longer. But I wouldn't do that anyway. However, don't let that affect your decision. You are right to want time to think this over. It's a pretty important decision. Don't you think?"

"You mean choosing a doctor?" I ask.

"No, not exactly," she replies looking at me closely. "If you agree to work with me, then you are deciding that you need help."

"I haven't said that," I object instantly.

"Actions speak louder than words," she answers back. "By saying that you want me to stay, it means that you want my help. And why would you want my help if you didn't need it?"

"True," I say thoughtfully. "Now I am very confused."

"I don't blame you," she says. "I would be confused too. You have been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. I suggest that you take some time to think about it and process it. And you have shared a lot with me. I would like some time to think on it too. I will come back in morning and we can talk some more."

"Yes," I say feeling a little shy. "I think that I'd like that. I thought that you would come in with a barrage of questions in your white coat, but this kind of felt like a conversation. I mean, you answered a lot of questions about yourself."

She shrugs.

"I have nothing to hide," she replies. "If I did then I wouldn't be very good at what I do. And if I want you to trust me, I have to prove that I can trust you too."

"I guess that's fair," I admit. "How do you like Shonda?"

"Shonda is a gem," she says with a smile. "She's tough as nails on the outside, but underneath, I think that she's pretty soft. Still, I wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

"You sure as hell wouldn't," says Shonda as she walks through the door. "Your dinner has arrived, madam."

Sawyer walks in with the box looking embarrassed. He sets it on the table and beats a hasty retreat.

"Poor Luke," I say. "He's much more comfortable as the big, tough security guard than as a room service waiter."

"Mmm, hmm," answers Shonda. "I would too if I was him. You can get yourself up and have your dinner if want. Or you can just stay in bed and look at it from there. I ain't your lady's maid."

With that, she sweeps out with a flourish. Charlotte and I look at each other and laugh.

"Think that she would make a good character for one of your books?" I ask.

"Nobody would believe that she was real," she replies. "There are some things that you just can't make up. I will leave you to your dinner. I would like to get back to my hotel so that I can catch up on my email. Have a good night, Ana."

"Have a good night, Charlotte," I answer. "I . . . I look forward to seeing you again."

"Me too!" she says briskly and walks out.

I look at the door for a long moment after she is gone. My chicken smells divine and I am hungry. I get myself up, pull on my jeans, and sit at the table. I want to look a little better for the children, so I know that I need to eat. And of course, I want Christian to see some improvement. That way he won't throw a fit when I go home tomorrow.

I suppose that he'll bring Gail tonight to help with the children. I hope that Sophie comes too. Teddy is always better behaved when she is there. While this may be a private suite, I don't want him acting like a hooligan. Lord only knows what Shonda would think. It could be funny to watch though. In a conflict of wills, I'm not sure of who would win.

I think about Charlotte Tyler and what she has told me about her life and career. She seems like a very strong person. I also have to wonder about our chat. She said that i shared a lot, but I thought that she shared more. I can't really think of it as a session. She never really pried or probed, not the way that Flynn always seems to be doing. And she didn't look at me intensely like I was some kind of specimen to be examined and dissected. She didn't even have a pen and paper. But then, she probably has an excellent memory.

I try to remember what I said to her, but even that seems a little fuzzy. I don't feel like I told her too much. I know that I was pretty sarcastic with her in the beginning, but she just seemed to ignore my bad humor. I guess that she gets a lot of that from her patients. And once she started talking about herself, she really engaged me. It was easier to be polite when I realized that I didn't have to be on the defensive all the time.

I like the fact that she isn't ready to pull out prescription pad and give me a pill. She said that it might not help, that it would mask my symptoms. I guess that Christian won't like that either, I believe that my so-called "symptoms" scare the hell out of him. And she understood why I wouldn't want to stop nursing, even though she never had any children herself. Overall, she understood a lot about me, even if she didn't come right out and say it.

And she's a writer. I like that too. It's like we speak the same language, books. I will have to get copies of her books. I am very interested now in her writing and how she crossed the line from academia to the general public. It's more of a professional interest than a personal interest, although I do think that it could be helpful with Sophie to read the book on children and grief. It makes me wonder why she wrote it.

But most important, I get to see my babies tonight. For the first time that I woke up in this awful place, I feel a sense of hope. Maybe she's right and I do need help, but she isn't treating me like some kind of crazy lady that needs to be locked up. And she never even mentioned the words "postpartum depression." Maybe she thinks it's something else. Or maybe, she really hasn't made a judgment yet.

It would be nice to see Flynn proven wrong for once, especially by this simple and thoughtful woman. I suspect that she doesn't have some kind of swanky office with green leather chairs that looks like a men's club or something. No, I suspect that she has an upholstered couch and her shelves are overflowing with books. In spite of myself, I like her. In fact, I think that I even trust her. She is very easy to be with. And I already know that I am going to ask her to stay.


	10. The Visit

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 9: The Visit**

"Mommeee!" Teddy squeals, as he flies across the room.

We follow him in at a more sedate pace. Mr. Grey with Phoebe in his arms, Sophie, and I watch as the toddler runs into Ana's waiting arms for a big hug. She looks down at him as if she hasn't seen him in a month, rather than less than twenty-four hours. She strokes his coppery hair as he buries his face in her lap. Then she kisses his little head.

"And how's my baby?" she asks looking up at Phoebe, who is staring solemnly across at her.

Phoebe whimpers, no doubt catching her scent and squirms in her direction. Christian walks over and gently places her in Ana's arms.

Teddy looks up and says soberly, "Fee-bee want mommy milk."

The baby is already nudging her mouth against Ana's tee shirt. She obligingly lifts it up and Phoebe latches on instantly. For the first time since Ana left home, the little girl appears content. Teddy looks on in approval.

"Fee-bee no like bottle," he says. "Throw up on Daddy."

He then grins wildly at the thought and Mr. Grey picks him up and swings him around and up to his hip. Even he seems to relax a little for the first time since this whole drama began. This is the way it should be, father, mother, and children all in the same place at the same time.

"I think that we all have missed Mommy," he says, as he bends down to kiss Ana's cheek.

"Mommy home?" Teddy asks hopefully.

"Soon," replies Ana softly, as she gazes down at her little baby. "Soon I hope. I see that you brought Sophie too."

"Soeee!" cries Teddy happily and wiggles to get down and run to Sophie who is standing slightly behind me.

Then he points to his overalls and says joyfully, "Twains!"

"Did Sophie help you get dressed?" asks Ana.

"Soeee! Come!" he replies, urging her forward.

Then he picks up Sophie's hand and leads her to Ana. As usual, she has been shyly hanging back, sensitive to the fact that this is a family reunion.

"I hope that you are feeling better, Ana," she says in her soft, quiet voice. "Teddy misses you so much."

"We all miss you," says Mr. Grey heartily, perhaps a little too much so.

Then Ana turns to me.

"Gail why don't you sit down and tell me how things are going at home?" she asks.

I notice that she is sitting in a recliner and that there are two chairs stationed nearby. Mr. Grey and I sit in the chairs. Teddy runs over to the neatly made bed and jumps up and down on it.

"Weeee!" he cried out. "Soeee! Come jump!"

Sophie looks at him doubtfully. But before she can answer, Ana's nurse comes charging in.

"Young man!" she says sternly. "What in the good Lord's name do you think that you are doing on that bed?"

Teddy sits down instantly and looks at her nervously and says more slowly, "Jump?"

"I don't think so," she replies smartly. "I just made that bed and I did not do it so that you could muss it all up again. Now get them dirty feet off and smooth them covers."

Chastened, Teddy climbs down and looks at the bed doubtfully.

"Here, Teddy," says Sophie. "I'll help."

And with her help, Teddy is able to restore the bed to its previous condition. The nurse stands there glaring at him with her arms crossed over her ample chest. She looks very "unnurse-like," wearing street clothes in bright colors, large hoop earrings, and bright orange lipstick. She looks a little like what Sophie's friends call "ghetto." When they are done, Sophie and Teddy look curiously at her.

"Shonda," says Ana. "These are my children, Teddy and Phoebe, our housekeeper, Gail, and Gail's stepdaughter Sophie. You know my husband of course."

"Of course, I do," she answers. "He tried to give me all kind of instructions, like I don't know nothing anything about myjob. Mmm, hmm. Just because he's paying me the big bucks doesn't mean that he gets to tell _me _my job."

"Of course not, Shonda," she says soothingly. "Mr. Grey is just very concerned for my well-being."

"Well, you better keep that child there under control," she threatens. "Or he's gonna find his little bottom out this room and in the hallway with those two big, old goons Mr. Taylor and Mr. Sawyer."

"Goons?" asks Teddy. "Tay-yer and Sawyer? Goons?"

"You know, little man," she replies. "Big old gorillas or something. Wouldn't want to run into them in a dark alley by myself late at night, two big ol' scary white men like them.

"Little man?" Teddy hoots in delight. "Me?"

"Do you see any other little men in this room?" she asks.

Teddy looks around and says, "Daddy big man."

"Mmm, hmm," she says back. "Your Daddy is a big man and no other man here. Got to do the math, boy."

"Boy?" he asks confused. "Teddy little man!"

Shonda rolls her eyes and walks out without another word. All the time, Ana has been watching in amused silence. Phoebe pulls away and Ana switches her to the other side. Mr. Grey looks around as if he has just been hit by a cyclone.

"Force of nature," he comments uncertainly. "Isn't she?"

"I like her," replies Ana. "She keeps things real."

"Teddy be good little man," comments the boy. "Soeee play?"

Sophie opens up the bag of toys they brought and they start to build a tower with the blocks. After we watch her, Mr. Grey and I turn our attention back to Ana. She looks back at me in expectation.

"The children have been very good all day," I reply. "They both had long naps this afternoon. Teddy had Spagettios for dinner; but as you can see, Phoebe wouldn't take the formula."

Phoebe is sucking very enthusiastically

"Ugh! How can he eat that stuff?" she grimaces. "But that explains why she's so hungry. I pumped again this afternoon. The milk is in the fridge. Don't forget to take it home."

"I won't," I say emphatically, as I give her the rundown. "Sophie did her homework and then played with Teddy until we came. Phoebe has had her bath already. Teddy can have his in the morning."

"She smells lovely," answers Ana, wistfully sniffing at her hair. "I've missed you, baby girl."

Phoebe unlatches for a second and replies with a soft coo. Then she stares up into Ana's eyes. I could swear that she is looking longingly at her. Last night was the first night that she and Ana had been separated. There are still two nights to go. I wonder how they will both make it. Suddenly there is a crash of blocks.

"All fall down!" cries Teddy joyfully.

"I heard that!" calls a sassy voice from the other side of the door.

Sophie puts her finger to her lips and tips her head towards the door. Teddy looks back at her with the same conspiratorial expression and imitates her gesture. They both giggle softly and begin to pick up the blocks. Ana sighs softly.

"Such a dear child."

I know that she is talking about Sophie. Then, Mr. Grey turns to her with one of his business-like expressions.

"So how do you like Dr. Tyler?" he asks.

"I like Charlotte very much," she answers, putting a slight emphasis on her first name.

"Do you think that you want her to stay and be your doctor?" he asks.

"I don't know," she replies. "She told me to consider it overnight and we would talk again in the morning. She is also going to consider whether or not she thinks that she can work with me."

Mr. Grey looks incredulous.

"I have offered her a small fortune," he says. "And whatever accommodations that she wants here. I'd even buy her a God damn house if she wanted. What the hell does she have to consider?"

Ana looks disapproving at his language and sharply jerks her head towards Teddy, who is thankfully oblivious. His little tape recorder mind has already picked up on some of his Daddy's favorite words. From time to time and he has repeated them in some very awkward circumstances. A couple of months ago, he dropped the f-bomb in front of Dr. Trevelyan, who then gave her son a severe lecture on being more careful with his language around him.

"She says that it's not about the money," replies Ana. "She says that she doesn't need our money and that she will only take the case if I am willing to work with her. She wants to make sure that it's a good match."

She pauses for a moment and looks introspective. We wait for her to continue.

"I think that it could be a good match," she answers thoughtfully. "She's not exactly what I expected. Have you met her yet?"

"No," he replies. "What is she like?"

"Well, she doesn't look like most of the doctors around here," she says. "You know, Grace and Dr. Greene are so elegant and well-groomed. She reminds me of a college professor. She dresses for comfort and the first impression that she gave me was that she was a little mousy. But she can really hold her own. She has strong opinions and is not afraid to share them."

I pick up a hint of warning in her voice. Something tells me that Ana is visualizing a future conflict between Mr. Grey and Dr. Tyler. I wonder what it could be over.

"Did she lock horns with Shonda?" he asks, missing the hint.

"Oh, no, not at all," she says. "In fact, she likes Shonda very much. She likes her because she tells it like it is. But Charlotte is also an author, which naturally creates a kind of bond. I didn't know that. I would very much like to get a hold of her books and read them."

"I'll send Sawyer out to the nearest bookstore," offers Mr. Grey. "He can pick up a little reading material for himself too."

"Thank you," she says. "I'm sure that he would like a chance to get outside. He's been stuck in here all day."

"Ryan will be here to spell him overnight," answers Mr. Grey, as he pulls out his cell phone. "Taylor can keep watch while he's gone on the errand."

"Taylor?" he says. "Send Sawyer out to get copies of Dr. Charlotte Tyler's books."

He then turns and says, "How many?"

"There are three," Ana says. "He can find them in the psychology or women's studies sections."

Mr. Grey repeats the message and then hangs up.

"He will be back before we leave," he says.

"You know," comments Ana. "I don't really see why he has to be out there. If you think that anyone is getting past Shonda who doesn't belong here, then I think that you are seriously underestimating her."

"It's not that I don't have full confidence in Shonda as a guardian," he says ruefully. "But if you need anything to eat or have any errands run, you'll need Sawyer, or Ryan. Shonda told me in no uncertain terms that she was here to care for your medical needs. She doesn't go down to the kitchen to get the hospital food for any of the other patients and such. Are you really sure that you like her?"

Ana looks at him oddly.

"For some reason that I don't fully understand, I do," she says. "It's kind of the same reason that I like Charlotte. They don't treat me like I'm special just because I'm rich. In fact, I almost think that Shonda holds it against me. They only seem concerned with my health and wellbeing."

"If you say so," he replies. "I'm looking forward to meeting, um . . . Charlotte."

There is silence for a moment in the room, only broken by the sound of the collapse of another tower.

"All fall down!" whispers Teddy.

Then, bored with that game, he returns to Ana to stand by her looking longingly at Phoebe, now snuggled in her arms sleeping, obviously satisfied by her dinner.

"Fee-bee share?" he asks softly.

Ana shifts the baby so that Teddy can curl up under her other arm. He cuddles up to her shoulder and yawns. Ana looks down at them with tears in her eyes.

"I miss my babies so much," she says sadly. "I just want to go home."

"Miss Mommy too," murmurs Teddy.

"I miss Mommy too," says Mr. Grey softly looking across at them.

"Sophie and I will give you four some private time," I say rising, seeing that they all need a family moment. "We will go out and sit with Jason for a bit."

But we don't make it that far. After I leave the room, I notice Shonda sitting out in her own little room. She has a bed, because of her twenty-four hour duty, a chair, desk, and a small television. The television is off and she is reading a copy of "O" magazine. But I notice a copy of Phillippa Gregory's latest novel on the desk. Something tells me that she is more than she seems to be.

"How did you like _The White Princess?" _I ask innocently.

"Oh, it was all right," she says looking up. "But not as good as . . . "

She stops and grins at me in amusement.

"Caught me out, didn't you?" she asks in a typical California accent. "You're not going to blow my cover, are you?"

"No," I say laughing. "I can see that you're having too much fun. You have a tough job. I don't blame you for assuming a persona."

"Works for me, works for the patients," she replies with a shrug. "Keeps folks like the Greys in line."

"Well, I'll admit that _he's_ a tough nut, but Mrs. Grey is very sweet," I say in defense of my dear Ana.

"Well, you've just told me a world of information about her," she replies. "Missee Ana has been up on her high horse about everything since she got here. She orders poor Mr. Sawyer around something fierce. She tried to do the same with me, but I told her where to stuff it. I don't take that kind of crap from anyone. I don't care how sick she is."

"What do you mean by a world of information?" I ask.

"Well, what you just told me is that she is behaving very much out of character for herself," she says. "I would call her many things, but sweet is definitely not one of them. She has been hostile and borderline rude since she woke up this morning. Dr. Tyler needs to know this."

"But Dr. Tyler hasn't agreed to take the case yet," I say puzzled.

"She will," replies Shonda definitively. "I have not only been working with patients and observing them for over thirty years, I also know doctors. I can tell when they're just treating a patient because they have to and when they are genuinely interested and want to help. When Dr. Tyler walked out of here tonight, she gave me her cell number and told me to call if Ana needed anything. She's worried about her all right."

"I am too," I admit.

"You should be," she says. "That poor woman is scared as hell. And it's the fear that clouds her judgment, not to mention makes her kind of bitchy. She doesn't know what the hell is going on. Maybe all that ordering around is her way of trying to exert some control over things. She needs careful watching and that's why I'm here."

"Do you think that she should go home?" I ask.

"It's not my job to think that," she answers sharply. "One way or the other. I don't know everything and I am not the doctor."

"But sometimes it's the nurses who know better than the doctors," I reply.

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "Maybe in some areas. But in mental health, I would have to say no. I work from impressions and can make little decisions about day-to-day care. But mostly, I observe the patients and report to the doctors. They make the decisions about treatment. They study long and hard for that privilege."

"Do you ever disagree?"

"That's irrelevant," she replies. "I follow their instructions and if something goes wrong I report it. That's the way it works. I always take good care of the folks that I nurse and that means that I obey the doctors' orders."

Sophie has been watching her carefully the whole time.

"Miss Shonda," she asks. "Why did you become a nurse?"

"Because I didn't want to be a doctor," she answers bluntly.

"Why didn't you want to be a doctor?" she asks. "Don't doctors make more money?"

"Well, little girl, money isn't everything," she says. "I was in medical school, but the part of that that I liked the best was working with the patients, you know, more of the hands on care that the doctors don't have time for. So I switched to nursing school and here I am. And I don't regret a minute of it."

"Oh," she said. "But Dr. Grace takes care of patients too."

"Yes, she does," answers Shonda. "When they were little, she took great care of my two girls. But being a nurse is caring for people in a different way."

"Oh," she says thoughtfully. "How old are your girls?"

"They are both in college," she answers, unable to hide the pride in her voice. "I took this job because the extra money will help with their tuition. But I'd stay for Ana. I think that she needs me even more than I need the money."

"So would you tell the doctor to keep her here for the money?" Sophie asks curiously.

"There's no amount of money worth telling lies for," she snaps.

"So then do you think that Ana should go home?" I press.

Shonda closes her mouth tightly.

"Now did I say that?" she answers back in annoyance. "That is not my call."

Our conversation is stopped when Mr. Grey comes to the door to call us back in.

"It's time to go now, Gail," he says quietly. "The children are worn out."

Ana is still sitting with the sleeping children in her arms. Her mood is lower and I can see that she is reluctant to let them go. Shonda walks in behind us, I suspect, to be ready to care for her after we leave.

First Mr. Grey takes Teddy from her arms and then I lift up Phoebe. The baby, sensing that she is leaving her mother, begins to cry. This wakes up Teddy, who tries to escape from his father's arms.

"Mommy, Mommy!" he sobs reaching out so pathetically the Sophie starts to weep silently.

At the sound of his voice, Phoebe cries louder. Now the tears begin to flow down Ana's cheeks. Shonda moves forward protectively.

"Hush, there, Ana honey," she says gently. "Your little babies need to go home with their Daddy to sleep. He'll bring them back to you tomorrow. I'll get you ready for bed and sit with you until you drop off. Ol' Shonda won't leave you alone by yourself to miss your sweet childrens."

"Of course, I will be back with them tomorrow, baby," says Mr. Grey soothingly, as he struggles with Teddy. "You rest up well. We all love you."

"Love Mommy," repeats Teddy, still sobbing. "Want Mommy home."

Ana covers her face in her hands and Shonda nods for us to leave. It's obvious that the quicker we get out the easier it will be for all of them. As we leave, I note that she is leaning over Ana, talking softly and gently rubbing her back. The tough old bird really does have a tender heart.

When we get outside the door, Jason looks at us and quickly leads us out to the car. After we strap the kids into their car seats, I ride shotgun while Sophie rides beside Teddy, patting his hand, and Mr. Grey sits beside Phoebe and places his large hand on her little cheek. Both children are now somewhat settled. No one talks until we reach the house and I tell Jason to get Sophie up to bed. It is only eight o'clock, but it feels much later.

After we tuck the children in bed, Mr. Grey takes the chair in Teddy's room in case he wakes up. The monitor is turned on in the master bedroom, even though it is easy enough to hear Phoebe cry from the nursery next door. I offer to spend the night over in the big house again, but he tells me that he can manage alone. His response surprises me, but I don't argue. I am interested in knowing what he and Ana talked about after we left, but naturally I don't ask.

When I return to the apartment, Sophie is already in bed and reading. I go in to say my goodnights. She looks up at me thoughtfully.

"You know, Gail," she says. "I have been thinking that I want to be a doctor when I grow up, like Dr. Grace. But now I think that I want to be a nurse."

"Did Shonda impress you?" I ask.

"She's cool," she says with a smile. "I like how she puts on her 'ghetto' for the patients. I bet they all really like her."

"So do I," I say.

"But you know," she continues. "I think that it's kind of neat the way that she takes care of patients. You know, she really gets to know them. I mean she was all tough and mean when we came in, but when Ana got upset she was so nice."

"Well, you have a lot of time before you have to decide on your future career, dear," I answer. "Don't stay up past 8:30, okay?"

"Yes, Gail," she replies obediently.

As always, she lets me kiss her cheek goodnight and then she turns back to her book. I go back out to look for Jason and discover that he is back in his office watching the cameras, no doubt waiting for the night shift to arrive. I am exhausted and allow myself the luxury of a long shower before going to bed. I look in on Sophie before I go to bed and naturally she is sound asleep. She is such a good girl.

Before I drop off, I think of all the hours that have passed when I woke up early this morning to pick up the cell phone with that fateful call. So much has happened in what had really been a very short time. In some ways, it feels like a long building storm has broken and passed. But I can sense that the aftermath will last for a very long time. I intend to wait up for Jason to discuss it with him, but before I know it, I am sound asleep.


	11. Night of Grace

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: I know that some of you are trying to read some deep meanings into my story. It's been very interesting getting your feedback through the reviews. I am touched that so many of you are seeing the message that I am trying to send about the nature of depression and the impact that it has on everyone connected to the patient.**

**However, I attempting to tell the story in a simple, honest way, infusing humor to lighten the tone while adding pathos to convey the sadness of Ana and those around her who are suffering with her. Essentially, this is Ana's story and her journey back to wholeness and happiness. It is also a love story, a story of the bonds of love within a family and between a husband and wife that will not be broken or damaged by this disease.**

**To tell the story, I have evolved the character development beyond where E. L. James left off. I can only claim that this is my hypothesis as to how things could have turned out, an AU of sorts. I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but that's okay. Some of your criticism has given me great food for thought.**

**Chapter 10: Night of Grace**

Christian delegated a very serious and difficult responsibility to me this afternoon. He wants _me _to inform the family that other than himself, the only family member that Ana wants to see at the moment is me. I am really not too surprised. It is quite clear that Ana is under a great deal of stress. Needless to say, so is Christian. The last thing that either of them need is to be dealing with uncooperative family members.

I dread facing Mia and Kate with the news. Ever since they heard the news of her near death experience this morning, both of them have been chomping at the bit to get over to the hospital to see her for themselves. Mia is positive that she can cheer her up, while Kate wants to urge her to stand up for herself. It is obvious to me that neither of them "get it."

This is going to be one of those times when Elliot has to step up and take control of his wife. Ever since she learned that Ana is in the hospital, she has been demanding to see her, refusing to believe that Ana wants to be left alone. I think that she considers herself in a different category where Ana is concerned. Kate has always been overprotective of Ana, almost as controlling in her own way as Christian. The last time we spoke, she was complaining about how Christian was handling the situation.

Hopefully Ethan will continue to influence Mia for the better. He has a calm presence that often is able to help her settle when she gets wound up. He is going to make a wonderful therapist when he finally finishes his degree and the spring. I am counting on him understanding enough about all of this to help me explain it to the others.

I make my calls to bring the family together for dinner. Luckily, Carrick is on my side. I know that he feels completely out of his depth here. He also feels that under the circumstances, the only thing that matters, is what Ana wants. There is very little that we can do to help her. If this is one small thing that will make her feel better, he wants everyone to agree.

As expected, the most vocal in their objections are Mia and Kate.

"That is ridiculous!" says Kate vehemently. "This is Christian going on one of his control binges again! She is my best friend and he is not going to stop me from seeing her!"

"This is not Christian's choice," I reply quietly. "Ana herself told me that this is what she wants. If it's any consolation, she doesn't want to see Ray or Carla either."

"Well, _that _makes sense," retorts Kate. "Ray would scold her and Carla would cry. Why should she have to deal with that?"

"And I just want to give her all the support that I can," chimes in Mia. "You know, I bet a day at the spa would do her a world of good."

Elliot rolls his eyes.

"I think that Ana needs more help than just a massage, a wax, and getting her toenails painted," he says. "I think that we should do what she wants."

"That's because you just don't understand how we feel about her," answers Kate. "She's been cooped up in the house too long with the kids. She needs to take control of her life again. If she would just get out and do a few things for herself or even just go back to work, she would feel a whole lot better. All women feel a little bit if the baby blues."

"I think that you are way off base, sis," states Ethan, bravely, I think, standing up to his sister. "I am no expert, but I think that this is more than just the baby blues. i think that this could be postpartum depression. This form of depression is often hormonally based. If Ana doesn't have control over her life right now, it is because she can't. Don't you think that she _wants _to get out and take an interest in life again? And don't try and blame Christian for this. I am sure that he is going through hell right now."

"Okay, Mr. Psychology major, what would you do for her?" asks Kate sarcastically.

"I don't know enough about her case to make a judgment like that," he replies reasonably. "And you don't either."

"I know that she tried to kill herself last night," she shoots back, determined to stay on the offensive.

"Did she, Grace?" asks Ethan turning to me. "Did she ever say that she wanted to die?"

I am thankful that he has provided me with an opening to explain things in greater detail.

"I was with Ana all night in the hospital," I answer. "She is very frightened right now, but not because she tried to kill herself. She is scared because she does not really remember what happened. She has been in denial for a very long time about her issues and to a certain extent, she still is. Once you add into the mix the fact that she misses her children dreadfully, she is incredibly miserable."

"But I just _know _that I could make her feel better," responds Mia. "You know, even if I can't take her to the spa, I could cheer her up with all the news from home."

"Dear Jesus, give me patience," mutters Carrick.

"Mia, it is not simply a matter of cheering her up with a few funny stories," I try again to explain. "Whatever is going on in Ana's mind, none of us understands it. And Kate, she does feel out of control, but not because of Christian. It's because of something much larger than that. And she has always been very capable of more than holding her own with him when he tries to run her life.

"No, this is very different. She knows that something is wrong and it scares her. If we can't permit her the control over her visitors, it will only make things worse. She is having a hard enough time coping with the constant round of doctors and nurses asking questions. She needs to be left alone."

Kate opens her mouth to answer, but a look from Elliot silences her.

"So tell me about the specialist that Flynn is bringing in," he says, obviously trying to sidetrack the discussion.

"Her name is Dr. Tyler and her specialty is women's psychology," I begin.

"Charlotte Tyler?" asks Ethan eagerly. "She's fantastic. I heard her speak last year at a conference. She has done some amazing work with women's issues in the field of women's clinical psychology. In fact, she's one of the women who have turned the field upside down in the last thirty years. If she's Ana's doctor, then she is in excellent hands."

"That's great!" interjects Carrick, trying to turn the conversation in a more positive direction. "I suppose that that is one of the advantages that Christian has with all that money. He can bring in the best experts at the drop of a hat."

"Well, it's just great that he's good for something," mutters Kate.

"Cut it out, Kate!" Elliot tells her sharply. "That is not fair and you know it. Christian has got to be suffering too. She's his whole world. And what about the kids? They must be miserable without her. Maybe you can't put yourself in Ana's shoes, but I know how I would feel if the same thing happened to you. I would feel like shit"

Kate looks annoyed at his scolding, mostly because she could never envision her self in Ana's position.

"So then what are we supposed to do?" Mia asks, pouting.

"For the moment, we need to mind our own business, be as supportive as we can from a distance, and be ready to help if called," I answer.

The girls still look dissatisfied, but I don't care. It really is ironic that Christian always gets labeled the control freak of the family. Right now it would seem that he has lots of company.

"And please don't harass the hospital or security staff," I add. "They need to be able to focus on Ana's needs, not yours. Now I have to go in to check up on some of my own patients in the pediatrics ward. I will excuse myself."

"Will you be seeing Ana, dear?" asks Carrick.

"Only if she wants to see me," I reply. "I know that she had a visit from the children tonight and no doubt that made her happy at the time. However, I imagine the goodbyes were wrenching. Hopefully she will be asleep, if she can."

"Any idea of when you will be home?" he asks.

"That all depends on what Ana wants and needs," I answer giving the children a significant look. "I'll call if I will be very late."

On my drive back in to the hospital, I reflect on our family meeting. I know that it is frustrating for the family to hold back. And it is difficult for them to believe that there is really nothing that they can do. Well, actually, there is something that they can do. They can give Ana the peace and quiet that she needs and wants. She has enough family emotions to deal with right now without having to add them to the mix.

When I enter Ana's suite after making my rounds, I notice that Shonda is not at her post in the outer room. This does not bode well at all. When I enter Ana's room, I can see that despite the late hour, Ana is still up and dressed. Shonda is seated beside her, rubbing her back and speaking softly to her. As I come forward they both look up at me. Ana's eyes are literally overflowing with tears.

"Grace," Ana chokes on her words.

Shonda and I trade places. The nurse softly tells me that she is going to call Charlotte Tyler. Ana falls to pieces in my arms; sobbing about the children and Christian and how terrible it was when they left after their visit tonight. It appears that the magnitude of last night's breakdown and its impact on her family has finally hit home.

"It was horrible, absolutely horrible. Phoebe woke up and started to cry when I gave her back to Gail," she sobs. "Then that woke up Teddy and he wanted me to come home. The look on Christian's face was just . . . tortured. Grace, what have I done to my family? What's wrong with me?"

I shake my head helplessly. It is impossible to know how to answer her. She is sick. I know it and so does everyone else. I think that even now she knows it. But she needs to acknowledge it. If she doesn't acknowledge it, then how can she understand that this isn't her fault? No one will blame her. I have no words of comfort to give, so I resort to the most basic human instinct, touch.

I don't know how long I hold her, cradling her in my arms like a child and rocking her. Her tears are soaking my coat and she shakes with wracking sobs. She is now in great, enormous pain. The quiet, depressive apathy that has marked her response up to this point has morphed into a deep and bitter sorrow. Her emotions are no longer flat, but ripped open and raw. The psychic wound has been exposed and is now bleeding. It is into this scene that Dr. Tyler briskly walks, entering the room with a purpose.

Charlotte Tyler is a rather unprepossessing woman. For someone who is so brilliant and famous, she looks quite ordinary. Yet her very aura projects comfort, sympathy, and kindness. She immediately goes directly to Ana and kneels before her. She uses her own hands to gently pry apart the hands that Ana is covering her face with. As she looks into her eyes, she smoothes back her hair softly. Ana meets her gaze; her eyes still red and swimming with tears.

"Will you be my doctor?" Ana asks her, the desperation heavy in her voice.

"Do you need a doctor?" Charlotte asks her calmly. "Are you sick?"

"I am sick," Ana finally admits. "I don't know what is wrong with me, but I need to find out. I need to find out so I can get better."

"That's very good, Ana," replies Charlotte with a small smile. "You have just made the first step in your recovery. Can we talk about what brought you to this point?"

Ana nods slowly and I begin to feel superfluous.

"Ana, dear," I say. "Would you like me to give you and the doctor some privacy?"

"Grace, would you stay please?" she asks. "Charlotte would it be all right if Grace, my mother-in-law stays with me for moral support."

"The choice is yours," she answers. "Why don't you introduce us?"

She turns to Charlotte.

"Charlotte Tyler, this is my mother-in-law, Grace Trevelyan-Grey," she states. "Grace is a pediatrician here at the hospital."

Then Ana turns to me.

"Grace Trevelyan-Grey, this is my doctor, Charlotte Tyler," she says.

Charlotte smiles a little wider.

"Thank you for introducing me as your doctor, Ana," she says. "It means a lot to me that you trust me."

"Grace," says Ana shyly. "I'm sorry about my meltdown. I don't know what got into me. I guess that there's a lot that I don't know these days."

"Do you want to find out?" I ask. "I know that you're scared."

"I am scared," she replies. "But now I'm afraid that I'll never get better if I don't find out. I think that I'm more afraid of not knowing what the problem is than I am of knowing the problem."

"Yes, that is very good," nods Charlotte. "Are you ready to talk about what has upset you so much? Would you like a cup of tea or something?"

"Yes," she answers. "That would be nice."

Shonda has been standing in the doorway looking on with concern.

"I'll get it for you, Ana," she says automatically. "Mr. Sawyer brought you some English Breakfast tea. He said that you like it without no milk or sugar or nothing and the bag outside the cup."

"Yes, that is how I like," she says. "Thank you very much."

After Shonda leaves, Ana leans back in her seat, while Charlotte and I pull up a pair of chairs. I sit myself beside Ana and hold her hand. Charlotte pulls out a pad of paper from her ample pocketbook and a pen.

"Most of my colleagues use tablet computers for their notes these days," she explains. "But I'm old fashioned. I like a good old pen and yellow legal pad. Where do you want to start?"

"Well, Christian brought Teddy and Phoebe to visit me tonight, along with our housekeeper Gail and Sophie," she begins. "Sophie is Gail's stepdaughter. She likes to play with Teddy and so she was able to keep him occupied while I nursed the baby and talked with Christian and Gail."

"That child is a little monster if you ask me," says Shonda as she reenters the room with the tea. "Terrible twos is his problem if you ask me. Needs to learn some manners too. Little girl is okay though. Asking me about nursing and such. I could grow to like that little one."

"Thank you, Shonda," says Charlotte with a nod and a smile.

"It was lovely just having them here," Ana continues. "I missed them so much. And they all missed me too. After a while, Phoebe dropped off and then Teddy climbed up on my lap and fell asleep too. Gail and Sophie left us alone and Christian talked to me about his day with the children. I know that he was trying to make it sound funny, and I guess that parts of it were, but I couldn't really cheer up. I . . . I knew that at some point they would have to leave."

"How was his mood?" asks Charlotte.

"He was sad and confused," she answers. "He's sad because I'm not well and I'm away from home. But he's afraid that if I go back home that something bad will happen. I think that he feels like he is in a no win situation."

"Are you afraid that something bad will happen if you return home?" asks Charlotte.

"I don't _think _anything bad will happen," she replies slowly. "But up until last night I would never have thought that anything bad _could _happen. I just miss everyone so much. And they miss me. If I stay here then it will be bad for everyone."

"Ana," I can't help but add. "You know that Christian only wants what is best for you. He wants to protect you and he thinks that if you remain in the hospital then he can be sure that you are indeed protected."

"Christian has always been very overprotective of me," Ana explains to Charlotte. "I guess in some ways, he is right that I am not very good at judging my own safety. But I feel like I would be just as safe at home as I am here."

"Well right now I don't want to delve into any of the circumstances where you previously have not exercised the best judgment with regard to your safety," she says. "But why would you think that be equally safe at home?"

"We have all of these closed captioned cameras for security and security guards," she replies. "And I have Gail to help me with the children."

"I have a very difficult question to ask you," says Charlotte. "If you returned home, but discovered that you needed to return to the hospital, would you be willing to go?"

Ana swallows hard.

"Don't you trust me?"

"It's not an issue of trust," she answers. "But as I said earlier, my inclination is to send you home. You are obviously depressed. However under the present circumstances it is impossible to root out its cause. You are obviously very sad because you are away from your children and husband. If you return to them, chances are that it will not make you happy. But by eliminating that as a possibility, we can work at what the real causes are."

"Charlotte," I say. "Lets address the elephant in the room. What are the chances that this is postpartum depression?"

"Very good," she says. "But I don't want to jump to conclusions, mainly because there are many different symptoms of PPD and many times people don't fully understand them or they think that all women experience all symptoms. But some of those symptoms overlap, obviously, with symptoms of clinical depression unrelated to childbirth. I prefer to sift through the various symptoms that Ana is experiencing before I make a diagnosis."

I can see why Ana likes her. Charlotte is both reasonable and thoughtful. Her simple, straightforward style projects safety. I trust her judgment, and I have only spoken with her for a few minutes. And I can see that there is a visible change in Ana's mood. She is both calmer and less despairing. Perhaps now she can sleep. I can see that Charlotte is thinking along the same lines.

"Ana, I think that it would be a good idea if you wash your face and change for bed," she says. "I will be happy to stay with you for as long as you like. Would it be okay if Grace went home?"

"Oh, I will stay," I interject immediately.

"Do you have to work tomorrow, Grace?" Ana asks.

"Yes," I admit reluctantly.

"Then maybe you should go home," she says. "If Charlotte is going to stay with me, then there is no reason for both of you to babysit me."

"Remember, Grace," adds Charlotte. "Ana is the only patient that I have to concern myself with now. I really don't mind staying. That way, if Ana wants, she can talk. If she falls asleep, then she won't be alone. And if she doesn't, well then I can just keep her company."

"Okay," I answer. "I do know that I need to be fresh for my little patients. But I will stop by tomorrow morning."

"Grace, could you stop by when Christian brings the children?" Ana asks. "I am afraid that he is going to need some persuading if I am going to go back home."

"He will," I say simply. "He's scared to death. I am sure that we can make him realize that there is no benefit to you being hospitalized at the moment."

"No there's not," she says firmly. "Goodnight Grace. Thanks for everything."

After I kiss her goodnight, I leave her to change into her nightclothes. On the way out, I run into Shonda.

"Is Ana calmed down now?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.

I nod, "You were really worried there, weren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," replies Shonda. "I do know when I can handle a situation and when I can't and only a doctor will do. Poor Ana was almost near hysterics in there and I was afraid for a bit that she would need a sedative, and that would be no good for a nursing mother. But Dr. Tyler is real good with her."

"She says that she will stay the night with her," I reply.

"That doesn't surprise me at all," she says. "Dr. Tyler kind of reminds me of you. And I know that you have spent many nights sitting up with poor sick children. You two both seem to always put your patients first."

"Do you think that Ana should go home tomorrow?" I ask her.

"I already told that housekeeper," she says snappily. "It's not my job to think about it one way or the other. It's up to Dr. Tyler to know that. I follow my orders. That's what I do."

"And you keep your opinions to yourself," I sigh.

"Mmm, hmm," she agrees.

"I wish that more of your colleagues were like that," I comment. "It only makes it more difficult or us doctors when the nurses tell the families different things. It causes them to lose confidence in everyone."

"That's very true, Dr. Trevelyan, very true," she says. "But I know my place and I ain't gonna be responsible for starting no trouble now, am I?"

"No, you're not!" I agree.

I resist the temptation to peek back into Ana's room. I am looking forward to talking to Charlotte in the future, but I don't want to disturb Ana again. On the way out, I see Ryan sitting on guard in the hallway.

"Everything all right, Dr. Trevelyan?" he asks worriedly.

"What makes you think otherwise?" I ask.

"Well, Dr. Tyler went rushing past me without even asking permission to go in," he says a bit formally. "It's a good thing that Taylor gave me her photo to see so that I knew that she was on the guest list so to speak. She looked very determined."

"Everything is fine now," I reply. "Dr. Tyler will be sitting by Ana for the night."

He heaves a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness," he says. "Mr. Grey has been a bundle of nerves since last night. If you think about it, a doctor, a nurse, and a security guard are a lot of people to be watching over one small woman in the hospital. But you don't have to remind me. Mr. Grey spares no expense when it comes to his family. And there are other concerns besides her safety to be considered."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, naturally if the press knows where she is and why then there would be a cohort of reporters waiting out by the hospital and the gates of the house," he says. "Can you imagine what a huge story this would be? The headlines alone would be a nightmare."

"I haven't imagined it," I reply grimly. "And I'm sure that my son hasn't or he would really be distraught. Who thought of it?"

"Taylor," he answers. "But we are under instructions not to plant the idea in Mr. Grey's head. He has enough to worry about. But you might want to mention to your family that _they _should be careful of who they talk to. This kind of publicity can be very damaging in more ways than one."

The nuance in his voice indicates to me that he views the danger as greater than just to Ana's professional reputation. If she became the center of a media circus, it could greatly damage her recovery. Once again, the loyalty of Christian's staff is without question. Non-disclosure agreements aside, these people genuinely care for the welfare of my son and his family.

And this will add another layer of complexity to the family situation. I know that Kate wouldn't dare risk any kind of media exposure, nor would Carrick, Elliot, or Ethan. Unfortunately, Mia, despite having matured greatly over the past three years is still a loose cannon at times. I will have to have a talk with her anyway about her attitude.

I know that Ethan is planning on finally asking her to get married at Christmastime. His degree program is nearly over and he is interning with a local psychologist whose practice he hopes to enter this summer. Mia will finish her own degree in April and has plans to open an event planning company, with Christian's backing.

She will never be much of a businesswoman, but with Ros's help and a good accountant, she should be able to focus on the creative side where she excels. And of course enthusiasm for planning big splashy affairs will be a big seller when it comes to making presentations to potential clients. But this is too important for her to be caught out complaining about Christian controlling Ana and her ability to have a "spa day."

As I drive home, I realize that I am bone weary. It has been a completely exhausting 24-hour period for all of us. However, having seen Charlotte Tyler in action tonight with Ana, I am much more hopeful about the future. If we can just convince Christian to follow the doctor's advice, it would make things a lot easier.

I almost regret that John Flynn was brought in so quickly. Because _he _trusts him so much, Christian is likely to hang on to his recommendation rather than what Ana's doctor feels is appropriate. In this issue, even Flynn knows that he is out of his depth. Hopefully, he will be on Charlotte's side and we will be able to move forward without too much conflict.


	12. Mommy Home

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Don't worry. Christian will definitely NOT cheat on Ana in this story. But that doesn't mean that he and Ana won't suffer as they work their way through this, TOGETHER.**

**Chapter 11: Mommy Home**

"You want to what?" I shout in outrage, exasperated beyond belief by what this supposed best of the best in the area of female psychology has just told me.

Dr. Charlotte Tyler, Flynn's so called expert calmly repeats herself.

"I am sending Ana home with you when you leave today," she says evenly. "There is no benefit for her if she stays here. She needs to be home with her children, and from what she has told me, they need her as well. Truth be told, I think that you need her too."

I run my hands through my hair in frustration. I can barely stand to listen to this. I brought her up here to _keep _Ana in the hospital so that she would be safe. What the hell does she think that she is doing sending her home?

"Have you run this by Flynn?" I ask impatiently.

"No, I have not," she states firmly. "Ana is now my patient and this is my call. Please remember that you were the one who had him call me, on my private home phone, if I recall correctly. Yesterday you were so desperate for me to come up that you sent your corporate jet to collect me."

"That was before I knew how absolutely irresponsible you are," I seethe. "How can you send a woman in Ana's condition back home?"

She sighs heavily.

"Mr. Grey, Ana's condition is such that I cannot accurately assess her mental state as long as she remains here," she explains. "She is so depressed by being _away _from her children that I can't tell what the origin of the depression that sent her here in the first place is. She is miserable."

"She was miserable at home," I shoot back. "We've told you that. We've told you everything."

"I can only go on what I observe for myself," she says quietly. "That is the way that I work. Third parties can tell me all they want _about _Ana, but their views are colored by their relationships and interpretations. I need to have the opportunity to observe and speak with Ana in her natural environment, so to speak. Being in the hospital like this is a very stressful experience. This situation is taking its own kind of toll on your wife. Her chances of another breakdown are greater if she stays here than if she goes home."

"How long did you observe her yesterday?" I demand. "You only spoke with her for an hour, from what I have been told. You seem to be making a pretty snap judgment to me."

Shonda has been listening to this whole exchange and fuming. I can see her pacing from the corner of my eye and hear her huffing and puffing each time that she goes by us. Finally she can no longer contain herself.

"Mr. Grey," she scolds. "Your poor wife was so upset after you took those babies away from her last night that I had to call the doctor here to set with her until she calmed down. But this doctor here that you are so quick to criticize done set there the whole night. She stayed up with her until she fell asleep and was still there in the morning when she woke up."

"Butt out, nurse!" I say in no uncertain terms.

"If I didn't care about your wife so much, I'd butt out on the spot, permanently, I might add," she hurls back at me. "And the doctor would too, I'm sure. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. I seen poor Ana after those childrens left and she was crying like her heart was breaking. ."

"Now both of you calm down and listen to me," interrupts Dr. Tyler sternly. "The last thing that Ana needs is a battle between her husband and her trusted caretakers. You may not want to remember this, sir, but I was called in because she does not trust John Flynn, mostly because he is your doctor. She needs her own doctor and advocate. Plus, Dr. Flynn has no experience with this kind of case. He admitted that himself.

"If Dr. Flynn has even a shred of ethics, he will defer to me and my decisions regarding Ana at this point. I have been working very hard to build a good and trusting relationship with your wife. If you fire me then the next doctor will have to start all over from scratch. And what will you do if she disagrees with you? The very last thing that Ana needs is a revolving door of doctors based on who is willing to agree with you at any given time."

"Look, Mr. Grey," says Shonda more calmly. "It's not just your wife that's miserable. Your babies miss their mamma. Your little girl won't eat at home and your little boy is clinging to her right now as we speak. If you try to take them away from her again, last night's scene will look like a walk in the park."

Suddenly I'm uncertain. I have these two strong-willed women ganging up on me and I realize that it's because they are trying to protect her from me. Some he this whole thing has been turned back on me. And it makes me very uncomfortable. Do I really want to try to drag the kids away again? Do I really want to face them when we return home without their mother? Suddenly my mother walks in.

"So how are we all doing today?" she says breezily and a little too innocently.

I figure out immediately that she is in on this too. Now I have three women against me. I recall Ana's words last night about not wanting to cross the doctor. I can see that she is willing to fight dirty in order to get her way with Ana's treatment. If there is anyone who can pull me into line other than Ana, it is Mother.

"Don't you have your own patients to take care of?" I ask her sarcastically.

She looks and Shonda and Tyler knowingly, and in, which is especially galling, amusement. It irritates the hell out of me that she is a part of this conspiracy to put my wife back in danger.

"I warned you," she comments to them as if I'm not even here. "Now you know why _Ana _wanted me to stop by while Christian was still here. And in case you haven't heard, Christian, I was here too last night. It took all three of us to calm her down enough so that she could sleep."

"It did?" I ask weakly.

"Yes, it did," replies Mother firmly. "And Ana even took a step forward in her recovery. Has he let you tell him yet, Charlotte?"

I make a note of the fact that Mother and Tyler are on a first name basis.

"No," she says. "He went ballistic before I had the chance. Mr. Grey, last night, when I came in to see your wife because Shonda had called me, she asked me to be her doctor. _And _she admitted that she is sick and needs help. She is terrified because she knows something is wrong, but she is even more frightened because she doesn't know what."

"Christian," adds Mother. "We have talked before about Ana needing to feel some control over her life because she knows that there are so many things out of her control right now. Trusting Charlotte enough to ask her to become her doctor, after she was given the choice, is not a decision that you want to reverse."

"Mother of God," I say, looking up at the heavens. "I can't fight all three of you."

"All four of us," corrects Tyler. "You are fighting Ana as well. Please reconsider your stance. Sooner or later, you know that you are going to give in and let Ana have her way. Why prolong this agony for her? She asked Grace to be here because she is afraid of you and your reaction."

"Are we back to that?" I ask sadly. "I thought that we were past that. She knows that she doesn't need to be afraid if I lose my temper. Half the time, I'm not even mad at her."

"It looks like you're not past it. An illness like this can trigger all kinds of former unhealthy behaviors," Tyler replies more gently. "Mr. Grey, you are going to play an important role in Ana's treatment and recovery. In fact your role is probably the most crucial of all. But it's not one that you can fill with your checkbook. She desperately needs your love and support, even if she tries to push you away. Part of that support is allowing her to choose her own doctor."

"But what happens if she . . . gets into trouble again?" I ask anxiously.

"She has complete confidence in your security staff to keep her safe," she says. "And I will be on call for her twenty-four seven. Since I will be focused on my writing, I will be able to be there whenever she needs me."

"You could live in the house," I suggest.

"No, thank you," she answers with a smile. "I don't think that I could get much work done with those two adorable children around."

"But how will we manage?" I ask in frustration again.

I've agreed to letting her come home in principle, but how can we really take care of her. Gail can't do it all. Mother seems to have read my thoughts.

"I suggest that you hire a daytime housekeeper to help Gail with the cleaning and laundry," she says. "As you have done in the past. You might want to consider a live in private nurse."

"No way, nuh-huh-uh," says Shonda vehemently shaking her head. "Ain't no money in the world convince me to move in with this crazy rich man here."

"He's not so crazy," answers Mother wryly. "Most of the time. Last night, you said that you would stay on the case for Ana's sake. That might entail leaving the hospital with her."

"And you just said now that you were putting up with me for Ana's sake," I point out.

"Putting up with you and living with you are two different things," she says. "I never said nothing about leaving no hospital."

I can't believe what I am being talked into. Not only that, I am practically begging this obnoxious woman to come and live in my house. And how the hell, will Ana respond to the idea that Shonda move in with us? That could easily go either way. I decide to let her make the decision. It could save me a world of trouble in the long run if she rejects the idea.

"Shonda," I say. "Will you at least permit us to ask Ana and see if she is willing to have you stay with her for a while? Before we get into an argument out here, let's see if she even wants you to come home with us."

"Now I know how come you got so rich," she mutters. "You know that if Ana wants me, I'll come. I'll give you credit, boy. You're pretty slick."

"And," I continue my pitch. "If we ask Ana, we would be ceding her some control over the situation."

"Yes, Shonda," agrees Tyler. "He certainly is good at throwing our own arguments right back in our faces like that. Okay, lets ask Ana."

I notice a triumphant glance pass between the three women. I'm not the only one in the room who's a good negotiator. As we walk in, I can see that Phoebe is still contentedly nursing, now on the other side. I'm sure that she is hungry because she stubbornly refused the bottle this morning, even though it had breast milk in it. Teddy runs over and grabs my knees.

"Phoebe love her mommy milk," he says happily. "No cwy!"

Teddy had been very upset this morning when Phoebe refused to eat and was crying from hunger. He barely ate his own breakfast. I can see that he's been snacking on a biscuit that must have been left over from Ana's breakfast. There are crumbs all over the floor.

I look closely at Ana and realize that despite the fact that she is happy that the children are there, her eyes look red from exhaustion and crying. I recognize that sadness that has gripped her for the last couple of weeks, but Dr. Tyler is right. She is utterly wretched being here. She needs to be home so that we can eliminate that as a cause for the depression.

"Ana," says Dr. Tyler. "We have been talking to Mr. Grey and he agrees that it would be best for you to come home now."

Ana's face lights up a little.

"You'll see, Christian," she says eagerly. "I've learned my lesson. I'll be good now."

I can see that she is trying to put the best face on the situation. It's fine for her to try and fool us, but I just hope that she is not fooling herself also.

"Ana, honey," I say gently. "If you come home, I would like for Shonda to move in and continue your care. At least until you are more like your old self again."

For a minute, I see a flare of the old Ana spirit.

"I don't think that's necessary," she insists. "What would she do? She'd be bored out of her mind."

"Well," I answer. "Dr. Tyler will be living nearby and on call twenty-four seven. But I'd just like to cover all our bases. But Shonda won't come unless you ask her yourself."

"Oh," she says quietly, a bit deflated by being handed the choice. "So I suppose that you are going to _let _me come home, but only under certain conditions."

"Ana that's not _my _choice to make," I reply honestly. "If Dr. Tyler thinks that you are ready to go home and you want to come home, I am not going to stop you. I trust her judgment. And there are no conditions with regard to that decision. We just think that it would be a good idea for Shonda to come with you. The ultimate decision is yours."

"And whose idea was Shonda?" she then asks suspiciously

"Sure as hell not mines," mutters Shonda.

"It was my idea," answers Mother. "Christian was wondering how you would manage. I suggested a day housekeeper to help Gail and a private nurse for you. If Gail's focus is on the children, then I know that's where you want it to be. And Christian works long hours and sometimes travels."

"But I plan to be home a lot more anyway," I add. "That way I'll know better than to put myself in the line of fire when his majesty eats his Cheerios."

Teddy gives me a wicked smile.

"Daddy no like messes," he gloats.

But then, without warning he changes tack, "Mommy home?"

We all look at Shonda who heaves a great sigh.

"Mommy home," she replies.

"Weee!" Teddy squeals waking up Phoebe who had looked like she was sleeping.

"Mommy home, Fee-bee!" he yells.

As usual, Phoebe looks back at him solemnly. Then she yawns and snuggles close to Ana. Teddy begins to run around and whoop, like an Indian . . . Until he notices Shonda glowering at him. He looks back at her contritely.

"Little man be good," he says.

Shonda shakes her head.

"And I thought that I was working in a nut house before," she says. "Can I help you pack up, Ana?"

"Yes, please," says Ana. "Gail could you hold Phoebe for me?"

Phoebe squawks in displeasure at the transfer. Teddy walks over and pats her hand.

"No cwy, Phoebe," he says quietly. "Mommy home."

The baby looks over at Ana, who nods. Then Gail hands Phoebe back to Ana.

"I'll help Shonda," she says. "You and Phoebe have some mommy time to make up."

"Teddy want mommy time too," he says uncertainly.

Ana sits herself down again and Teddy walks over and rests his cheek on her knee. As Gail and Shonda begin to gather Ana's things, Dr. Tyler and I walk out with Mother.

"I'll stop by once she settles in," says Dr. Tyler.

"You are sure that this is the right thing?" I ask.

"Did you see the look on all of their faces, Christian?" Mother asks. "It's the right thing."

"I have already spoken with Ana about this possibility also. It may make you feel better," says Dr. Tyler. "It may still be necessary for her to return to the hospital. The trajectory of recovery is not always consistently upwards. If there are setbacks, we may have to bring her back here. She has agreed to come willingly if necessary."

"And if you see a need for it," I reply. "You will make sure that she returns."

"Of course," she says. "It may not be necessary, but I don't want to create any unrealistic expectations."

"I understand," I say. "Better than you may realize. I just don't want to lose her. I . . . I don't know how I could live without her."

"Well, Mr. Grey," replies Dr. Tyler. "That is something that you should discuss with Dr. Flynn. Depression not only impacts the patient, but the whole family. You are going to be feeling a great deal of stress as Ana makes this journey back to wholeness. It is extremely important that you do not neglect your own needs. She needs you to be strong for her."

"You can face this, Christian," encourages Mother. "And you have the rest of the family behind you as well."

"Who have you told?" I ask anxiously.

"Just the immediate family," she replies. "Carrick, Elliot, Mia, Kate, and Ethan."

I groan.

"So which one is worse, Mia or Kate?" I ask.

"It depends on your definition of worse," she says with a smile. "Mia think that she can cure her with a day at the spa. You can imagine what Elliot had to say about _that. _Kate is very miffed because Ana won't see her. She thinks that all Ana had to do is take control of her life and she'll be fine. She just needs to go back to work."

Dr. Tyler has been carefully listening to the exchange. I decide to give her another opportunity to discover more about the extended family.

"What about Ray and Carla?" I question Mother further.

"Let's see. Carla reacted predictably by crying," she replies. "And Ray wants to give her a swift kick in the butt. It's just as well that Ana doesn't want to see either one right now."

Now I can see Dr, Tyler shaking her head.

"You all have one hell of a family dynamic going on there," she comments. "I'm looking forward to hearing about it from Ana."

"Do you think that that could be a part of Ana's problem?" I ask.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way," she says. "Most of the time families play an important role in the mental health of the individuals within it. I'm sure that there is some correlation, but until I know more, I can't think what."

Ana then appears in the doorway. She is holding Phoebe on one arm and Teddy by the other hand. She is smiling a little, but when I look into her eyes, I see sadness. I can see that she is truly no longer fooling herself about her own state of mind. While I know that this is for the best, it still hurts my heart.

Dr. Tyler gives me a sympathetic glance. I can see why Ana likes her. Her calm logic is very similar to Mother's. And I know that Mother has always made Ana feel very safe. I call to Taylor who is out in the hallway to bring the car around. Luckily, we have the second SUV here so that Sawyer can drop off Dr Tyler at her hotel. She has been traveling back and forth to the hospital by cab so far. I will have Taylor arrange for a rental car and a furnished rental property closer to home.

I offer Shonda a ride home to pick up her things, but she says that she has her own car and would prefer to drive it to the house herself. Taylor gives me as nod that indicates that he will make all of the arrangements for both women. Mother is staying at the hospital to finish her shift, but she promises to stop by on the way home.

The drive home with Ana is very quiet. She stares pensively out the window. Teddy is busy looking through a picture book. I don't know what to say anymore. When we arrive home, Taylor goes over to his office to call the agency that provided us with temporary housekeepers before. He is also going to look into what is available by way of local rental properties. Gail goes upstairs to prepare a room for Shonda. Luckily, all of the guest rooms have their own bathrooms.

I help Ana bring the children in and get settled her once again in our room. She looks tired from the effort of moving from the hospital to home. Teddy is so excited that she is back, that he starts jumping on the bed and joyfully singing about "no more monkeys jumping on the bed," mostly making up his own lyrics.

Ana looks overwhelmed. Since Phoebe is already sleeping, I suggest that Ana rest while Phoebe has her late morning nap. Teddy climbs off the bed and looks annoyed.

"No nap for little man!" he states firmly. "Want Mommy play!"

Ana looks at me pleadingly. She knows that I must have work to do, but she isn't up to dealing with Teddy. Once we have the housekeeper situation settled, Gail will be there for him so that she won't have to continuously manage his more strenuous needs. So I figure, what the hell? Ros can handle whatever needs doing today.

"Come on, Ted," I say trying to sound cheerful. "Let's let these wimpy girls get their beauty sleep while you and I do some man stuff."

"Wimpy girls!" he laughs, "Teddy no need beauty sleep."

"No, he doesn't," says Ana softly. "And Daddy doesn't either. You both look beautiful to me."

Teddy looks thoughtful for a moment.

"Mommy no need beauty sleep. My Mommy bee-yoo-tee-full," he says slowly. "Mommy need sleep sleep."

Then he looks up at me hopefully and asks, "Twains?"

"I'll meet you downstairs in the train room in a couple of minutes," I say. "Okay, Buddy?"

With that, Ted is flying down the stairs, shouting "Whoo! Whoo! Chugga, chugga! Chugga, chugga! Whoo! Whoo!" I turn to Ana who has tears in eyes and, sitting down on the bed with her, take her in my arms. She clings to me.

"I am so sorry for . . . "

But I put my finger in her lips to silence her.

"You have nothing to apologize for," I tell her. "I love you with all my heart. You are going to get better and I am going to be by your side every step of the way."

"I'm sorry that I've been so hard on you," she says quickly, before I can silence her again. "I didn't mean to get so angry with you, it's just . . ."

"Well, just think of all the times that I've been hard on you," I say. "It's never made you love me any less. You have been my hope and my strength these past few years. I want to prove to you that I will be there for you also."

"I thought that you would kick up a bigger fuss about me coming home," she murmurs.

I roll my eyes.

"Look," I say. "I had Dr. Tyler, Mother, _and_ Shonda all determined to persuade me. I didn't stand a chance. But now that you're here, I feel greatly relieved. When you were gone it left a huge hole for all of us. We need you, baby."

"I'm not so sure about that," she says hesitantly, her eyes looking a little dazed. "Sometimes I feel like I am weighing you all down. I feel like I am just making your lives harder because I can't . . ."

She stops talking and looks down at her hands that she had been rapidly twisting in her lap. I realize then that she still fails to see how much we all love her and need her. I kneel before her and take her hands and uncoil them from their furious motion. I gently lift them and take them to my mouth and kiss them. Then I hold them over my heart.

"Nothing could have made our lives harder than when you were away from us yesterday," he replies. "Please don't even think that we could manage without you."

But as I look into her eyes, I can read her doubts. Perhaps the trauma of the past two days has made her unsure of her own perceptions. Perhaps she doesn't believe me and thinks that I am just saying that to make her feel better. I used to be able to fight against the tendency in her to always look at herself as the root of all problems better. Now she just seems to be awash in negativity about herself.

Suddenly the sound of my son's voice echoes up from the living room.

"Daddy!" he demands. "What about Teddy?"

Ana can't help but smile. She seems relieved that our son has broken into this intense moment. I am regretful that his energetic, defiant tone has destroyed the mood. Ana is floundering around, looking for the words to express her fears. But she really doesn't want to, and now this is a convenient excuse for her to go burrowing back into her own tunnel of sadness.

"I love you, Christian," she says wistfully.

"I love you too, babe," I reply emphatically. "Now get some rest before Phoebe wakes up hungry again."

I help her lie down and tuck her in. Before I leave, I softly kiss her head and stroke her gorgeous brown hair. Yes, it may be selfish, but I am truly glad to have her home. I only hope that we can find a way out of these troubles. But at the bottom of the stairs, my son is impatiently waiting. Tugging my hand, he leads me off to the playroom. He stops at the door and points insistently.

"Twains!" he says loudly.

Doing my best to rise to the occasion, I dutifully pull out the two engineers caps and we sit on the floor beside the little railway station. Teddy has already figured out that the two solar-powered engines run if they are placed in direct sunlight. After he lines them up, he crows in delight as the wheels begin to turn and they gather up speed, pulling their cars behind them.

He is thoroughly engaged by the motion of the trains around the track, through the various little stops that I have made. I find that watching the trains circle around and around has almost a hypnotic quality to it. And I feel caught in the same kind of circle, always moving, but never really going any place new. I just want to go upstairs, take Ana in my arms and hold her closely. I want her to understand that I am not going anywhere. The children are not going anywhere. And no one's life will ever be easier if she's not with us.


	13. All Fall Down (Part 1)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: This was a very difficult chapter for me to write, because it is my attempt to get inside Ana's head at this point in her illness. Please remember that the conversations she has and impressions she gives are all seen through the filter of her own perceptions. Some things may bother you because they feel untrue or not in character. Some things may just bother you. That, however, is the point.**

**Chapter 12: All Fall Down (Part 1)**

I have been home for less than an hour, and I am wondering why I made such a fuss about coming back. Things are not at all what I thought that they would be. I had thought that after the trip to the hospital, I would feel completely different. I thought that everything would look better after I was reunited with the children. I thought that if Charlotte could just see me here, amid my normal surroundings, she would realize that there was nothing wrong.

It hadn't taken me long to figure out how I could get myself out of the hospital once I met her. In fact, it was pretty easy. Charlotte didn't want me to be sad _because _I was away from the children. And I was willing and cooperative when it came to all of her demands. If I admitted that I was sick and needed a doctor, then she would let me leave. If I were willing to come back if she said so, then she would let me leave. But I knew that wouldn't happen.

There really wasn't anything wrong with me. I was unnerved by my little swim in the Sound, but it was mostly because I couldn't remember it. I remember seeing the beautiful moon and wanting to follow the silver pathway to it. But I must have been sleepwalking. I've heard the people do all sorts of odd things while they are sleeping. I figured that once I got home, I could tell her my theory. Maybe I had some kind of sleep disturbance. I hope that they can treat it without pills.

But the drive back was sobering. I looked out the window at the familiar landmarks and neighborhoods. But they were all a blur to me. It felt like Taylor was driving faster than usual. Gail was sitting up front with him. They were silent. The kids were strapped into their car seats in the middle seat and then Christian and I sat in the back. I could feel his arm around me. It was tense. There was nothing to talk about.

Usually when we drove we would talk about our days, how the children were doing, just all of our normal day-to-day activities. But what was there to talk about? I had nothing that I wanted to tell him about being in the hospital. He had already given me detailed updates on the children. He wasn't connected enough with work to have any news about that. And I had enough clarity of mind now to realize that I had absolutely no knowledge anything going on at Grey Publishing.

It was with an almost piercingly lucidity that I realized that I also didn't care. And I didn't need to. Before Phoebe was born, Christian, with his typical organization and foresight, had insisted on putting a solid team in charge of the company so that if I wanted to become a stay-at-home mom I could. At the time I had been miffed. But now, I didn't even have the energy to be grateful or relieved. I just didn't care.

When we arrived home, I was vaguely aware of Gail and Taylor running around to organize the household to welcome Shonda and arrange living arrangements for Charlotte. I wanted to protest that it was no longer necessary. I could manage on my own with Gail to help. We had done just fine without any extra help in the house before. But before I could marshal my arguments, another wave of ennui hit. And I didn't care. Let them make their fuss, as long as it didn't bother me.

We returned to the bedroom, I knew that all I wanted to do was sleep. Phoebe was so completely knocked out that she didn't even realize that we had moved her. Since she was sleeping, I wanted to sleep. Soon enough, she would be waking up hungry again. But then Teddy wanted me. And I didn't have the energy. Without missing a beat, Christian stepped in and offered him "man time."

But I was so tired. The idea of sleeping in my own bed after a couple of nights in a hospital was too enticing to resist. The bed was waiting for me, looking so inviting. I felt guilty. Shouldn't I want to make up the time that I had missed with my son? I had seen the look in his eyes when he had asked for "mommy time" in the hospital. It was so easy then. I was sitting there with Phoebe in my arms and he rested his little head on my knee. It was so easy, no exertion required.

But Teddy is a very active child. He was so happy that I was home that he couldn't sit still, jumping on the bed and running around. I remembered when I could keep up with him. Even a week before Phoebe was born and I was as big as a house, I was still able to waddle along after him. His antics made me laugh. But then they just tired me out.

Like now, when all that I want to do is sleep.

I feel so guilty. I am going through the motions of motherhood. I am no longer even going through the motions of being a wife. Christian must feel like he is sleeping with his sister. Except that when I go to bed with him he simply holds me. He doesn't even try to touch me _that way._

I wonder how he stands it. I wonder if Claude Bastille is still alive after all the beatings that he has been taking to let out his pent up frustration. Of course, I haven't seen him myself in months. I just don't have the energy for a workout. Oh, and I don't care about that either.

After Teddy was born, I was all about regaining my old form. I couldn't believe how quickly I was able to regain my old form and figure through diet and exercise. I have certainly regained my old figure since Phoebe was born, but not my old form. I'm so sedentary these days that I have no appetite. I only eat as much as I do for Phoebe's sake. She's so different from Teddy.

Teddy was full of life since the first week at home. The pediatrician, an old friend of Grace's, referred to him as a wakeful child. He didn't want to miss anything and before we knew it he was running the house. Such a large child was not satisfied by nursing alone for very long, and then, at three months, basically weaned himself from the breast.

At three months, Phoebe shows no signs of stopping. She has a more placid, calm personality. In fact, just holding her gives me a sense of peace and wellbeing. I'm glad that she is small enough that she will be in the bassinet right there in our room longer. I like having her there. Her easygoing temperament is probably the reason why Teddy adores her.

He has such a strong personality that we had been concerned that he might be jealous of her. But from the minute that he saw her in my arms in the hospital it was love at first sight. And she isn't a crying or whining baby. She will never challenge Ted for his position of "top dog" in the family.

I remember when I used to think that I wanted to have a lot of kids. But now I'm not so sure. I don't have enough energy for two. It wouldn't be fair to the kids that we do have to add more into the mix for me not to take care of. But the way our sex life is going, chances of any more children are slim to none anyway.

But as the familiar lassitude falls over my body, my thoughts swirl around on my head like snowflakes. It's hard to focus on any one thing for too long. It makes my head hurt. It's easier to huddle under the covers, close my eyes, and hope that Phoebe doesn't wake up too quickly. But before I realize it, a large hand is firmly shaking my shoulder.

"Ana, honey," says a deep, rich voice. "Yo' baby is cryin' for you. I think she's hungry."

I open my eyes slowly and see Shonda standing over me. Her face is a picture of concern. I barely register the fact that the light in the sky has shifted and the sun is at a different angle. I can hear Phoebe crying from the bassinet.

"But I just put her down," I mumble. "How long were we sleeping?"

"For as long as I been here," she says. "You want me to bring her to you or do you want to get up and set in that nice big, comfortable rocking chair?"

"Could you bring her to me, please?" I ask. "What time is it anyway?"

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. I can see her gently lifting Phoebe, who immediately stops crying. She tucks my baby under her arm and croons, "Hush, hush, little one. Ol' Auntie Shonda's gonna bring you to yo' mamma."

There is something very calming about her mellow voice that makes me feel better. "Auntie Shonda." I like that. I never had any aunts in my life. Seeing that Shonda is waiting, I slide myself up and adjust the pillows against the headboard. It takes me a minute to unbutton my blouse and adjust my bra. After she hands over Phoebe, she pushes the chair over to the bed and heaves herself into it.

"My, I do like how you rich folks live," she comments as she settles in. "I ain't never had such a comfortable chair to set in so's I can watch over my patients."

"You don't need to watch over me," I protest.

"Like hell I don't!" she replies with her usual sass. "If you're gonna spend the whole day in bed like that, who else is going to fetch and carry for you? And wake you up when your baby is crying to eat? Mmm, hmm, Now that you got her here, you _stuck _with Shonda, honey."

"I haven't been in bed all day!" I argue. "We just got home . . . I thought that you were coming later."

"Ana, honey, it is later," she says more kindly. "I've been here for three hours now, just setting and watching you sleep. You know you talk in your sleep, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," I say annoyed. "But I don't get it. Three hours? But you had to go home and pack. What time is it?"

"It's nearly five o'clock," she replies. "Mr. Christian wanted to wake you up when I got here because you hadn't eaten nothing, but I told him you needed your sleep more. My word, that man is obsessed with your eating."

"Tell me about it," I grimace. "But we got home around eleven. I can't believe that I slept for almost six hours."

"Well," she says. "You gonna need to get up and have you some dinner. Dr. Charlotte be coming around seven for to talk to you. She won't like it none if you ain't eaten nothing."

"She's going to make house calls?" I ask.

"Honey, you're her only patient," she explains. "Mr. Taylor done found her a nice little gate house, whatever the hell that is, nearby and Mr. Christian rented it for her. And he rented her a nice little Saab too. He's taking real good care of her, and me, so's that we can take care of you."

"But if I'm her only patient," I ask, as my thoughts begin to blur again. "Then what is she going to do when she's not making house calls?"

"She's working on her next book, remember?" answers Shonda. "Something about girls and body image, maybe about why they getting all them tatoos and sticking holes in they bodies all over the place. My Lord, what this generation thinks is good-looking! By the way, those books that you wanted to read are right over there on the nightstand. You never got a chance to look at them when you were in the hospital."

I glance over at them, but I can't remember why I wanted to read them in the first place.

"I suppose that my husband is paying you both well," I comment, with an edge in my voice.

"Ana, I don't know about Dr. Charlotte," she replies. "But let's just say that he's paying me more than I would make at the hospital. Of course, I don't live in at the hospital twenty-four hours a day."

"Where did they put you?" I ask curiously. "I mean in which bedroom?"

"Mrs. Gail called it the blue room," she says. "It's sure got one pretty view of the water. This room got a pretty view too. It's nice and peaceful-like. You know? Nothing like the dirty, old city with all that noise and people rushing around."

She is looking at me thoughtfully, as if she is trying to figure something out. I'm glad that Gail put her in the blue room. It's our guest room that I had decorated with my mother in mind. Of course, it's not like Ray's room, which is very manly. But I had intended that that room have a light, seaside feel to it. It is also the guest room farthest from my own room. Phoebe has finished nursing on one side and is now contentedly sucking on the other. Then I remember Teddy.

"Where is Teddy?" I ask. "Did he have his nap?"

"Yes, he did," Shonda answers. "Mr. Christian had some work to do, but he was lucky. Little Sophie was home from school by the time the little man woke up. She's playing with him right now. My Lord, he never tires of those trains."

"No he doesn't," I answer with a smile. "Grace tells me that Christian was the same way with helicopters."

"Like father, like son," she says. "Good luck with that. But your little Phoebe here seems much more like you."

"I hope not," I say carelessly, but then bite my lip when Shonda gives me a sharp look.

"I hope that you were joking just now," she says meaningfully. "Why wouldn't you want that sweet little girl to be like you? You're smart and beautiful. In a lot of ways you have the world at your feet."

"Yes, well, that's not exactly what I meant," I reply quickly. "I guess that I just want her to be, uh . . . happier than me."

Shonda looks like she is about to answer that, but before she can open her mouth, Teddy comes flying in a takes a running leap on the bed. We are jostled so much that Phoebe unlatches and squawks in disapproval before I can guide her mouth back. Ted laughs gleefully at his own prank and then notices Shonda staring at him from the chair.

Despite her grim expression, I note a hint of humor in her eyes. Inwardly I smile. Once again, Teddy has won the heart of a doubter. However, I can see that she is going to keep up her pretense of the strict disciplinarian. The look on Teddy's face tells me that he has also figured it out and is going to play along. He looks at her just a little too remorsefully.

"Sowwy, Auntie Shonda," he says. "Little man don't know his own stwength."

"Mmm, hmm," she replies back. "And if you want to stay setting on that bed, you better set your little butt down there and set still before you make that poor baby throw up."

"I'm sorry, Miss Shonda," says a sweet little voice from behind her. "I'll watch him more carefully the next time."

Sophie walks in, still dressed in her school uniform. Obviously she was pressed into service as soon as she got home. I frown at the idea.

"Sophie," I ask. "Have you done your homework yet?"

"No, ma'am," she replies with her usual politeness. "I can do it after dinner."

"Well, it's probably early enough for you to be finished by dinner if you start now," I answer. "Why don't you do that? Teddy can stay with me now that I am awake."

"Soeee!" cries Teddy. "Me! Me! No homework!"

"I'm sorry, Teddy, but I have to do my schoolwork," she replies seriously.

"Little man," says Shonda. "You let that child do her homework. Ain't nothing more important than to get yourself a good education in this life. That's Sophie's job right now, not babysitting you."

Teddy nods, looking suitably chastised as Sophie walks out. No doubt she will do her homework on the kitchen table where Gail is fixing dinner. That is our normal routine, so I am puzzled as to why Teddy has questioned it. But he is also looking a little down. Then he looks at me.

"Daddy work," he says sadly.

Once again, I wonder what the problem is. Christian is never home from work this early. I try to think back in my mind as to what we would be doing on a normal day. But my memory turns blurry again. It's hard to remember the past couple of months. Then I realized that Phoebe has released and is looking up at me expectantly, but for what? I feel the confusion washing over me. Shonda is watching the whole time and seems to understand my dilemma.

"So, little man," she says to Teddy. "Why don't you tell ol' Auntie Shonda what you like to do in the afternoon?"

He scrunches up his face.

"Walk?" he looks hopeful and until he looks out the window.

"Too dark!" he sighs. "Build blocks?"

"Yes," I say. "Why don't you bring in your blocks and build a tower in here?"

Now he looks bothered.

"No blocks here," he says. "Teddy's room."

With that, he gets up and goes to the door. But before he leaves he turns around.

"Come, Fee-bee," he says cheerfully. "All fall down."

He then gives Shonda a mischievous look and giggles as he runs into his room.

"Ana, honey," she offers. "If it's too much for you then I can go over with Phoebe and watch the boy play."

Then I remember that Charlotte is coming after dinner. I know that Shonda will tell her everything. I decide that if she adds that I wouldn't get out of bed to watch my boy play, that it will be another mark against. I already suspect that the remark about not wanting Phoebe to be like me is going to start something.

"That's all right, Shonda," I say. "I need to get up and use the bathroom anyway."

As I hand over Phoebe to the nurse, I notice that she gives her a little chirp. This time she isn't bothered at all at being handed off to a stranger. Shonda cuddles her against her ample chest and I can see that my baby knows that she is safe. She may even sense that Shonda is here to take care of us.

When I enter the nursery, I take note that Shonda is sitting on the floor and Phoebe is sitting up in her little "doughnut," as they watch Ted build his tower. I walk over and sit on Phoebe's other to also watch the creation of the latest tower. But Teddy is so engrossed in his task, that he barely notices me. Phoebe is also intently watching him. It makes me wonder if either of them really care whether or not I am really here.

Then the blocks suddenly take a tumble.

"All fall down!" he shouts in glee, until he looks over at Shonda.

Then he whispers, "All fall down."

But Shonda's response is completely unexpected.

"That's all right little man," she says easily. "As long as you not waking up yo' mamma or little Phoebe, you can holler as loud as you want. This is your house, not the hospital."

He wrinkles his little face.

"No like hospital!" he says emphatically. "Mommy home. Stay home Mommy!"

He expresses this as a command rather than a wish. I don't know if a wish would have been worse. But for some reason I can feel the tears forming in eyes. I want to stay home, but the question is, will they let me stay home? Even now, I wish that I were back in bed. I am so tired. The children seem happy enough with Shonda. Then I notice Shonda watching me again. I remember that she is here to look after me, not the children.

I don't dare say that if she wants, she can look after the children and ignore me. They are a hell of a lot more interesting than a tired out old lady like me. I feel like I'm a hundred today instead of twenty-five. That's a good idea.

I will go to bed and everything will go on happily without me. Once again, I remember that when Charlotte comes tonight she will tell her everything. So I stay seated on the floor and go through the motions of watching Ted build and cheering him on as larger and larger towers "all fall down." Phoebe, too, is enjoying the show. She crows and squawks as the rest of us react. Teddy is enjoying being the center if attention. Then Christian shows up at the door.

"Dinnertime everyone," he says.

"One more, Daddy!" he shouts.

"One more," he cheerfully agrees.

We all watch as Ted carefully builds his tower, block by block, his little tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. Then he puts on one block too many and the tower crumbles.

"All fall down!" he cries joyfully.

Then we hear a little giggle. We all look over at Phoebe, who giggles again. She looks at Teddy and smiles. Her first smile, and it is for her brother. He comes over and kneels before her, smiling back,

"Fee-bee smile," he says in wonder. "Fee-bee smile for little man."

Once again, I feel outside of things. Christian has gotten down on his knees behind Teddy and they are both grinning goofily at Phoebe, the way that everyone always makes funny faces at a baby. But I am disappointed. I had been hoping that Phoebe's first smile would be for _me. _After all, Teddy's first smile had been for Christian. I had been counting on being Phoebe's first.

But then again, why would she smile at me? I smile at her all the time, but never that no holds barred, silly smile that Teddy always gives her. Nor do I make funny faces at her the way that Christian does. I realize that I am such a failure as a mother right now, that I cannot even make my own baby smile. I see Shonda looking over at me and realize that she has not been paying any attention to the warm scene playing out between us on the floor. She has been watching me.

It is then that I understand that she has more than just street smarts. She is a highly observant, highly intelligent woman, who is very skilled at what she does. I suspect that no interaction or reaction that I have with anyone will go unremarked when she reports to Charlotte. But she is not looking at me clinically, but rather with great sympathy. I have never been any good at disguising my feelings, despite the fact that Christian has always considered me self-contained.

But right now I feel empty, void of the emotions that I should be feeling at this moment. I then notice that Christian and Teddy are up off the floor. Christian holds out his hand to help me up, while Shonda grabs the baby and stands up. After I have arisen, she puts Phoebe in my arms.

"Are you joining us for dinner, Shonda?" I ask her.

"No, ma'am," she says. "I prefer to eat mines in the kitchen with Mrs. Gail and Sophie. You all should eat as a family."

After she leaves, Christian whispers to me, "She views her mealtimes as private time. I had already offered to have her eat with us, but she prefers it this way."

I nod and follow him, with Teddy in tow, out the door. I can understand that. She must need a break from me. And certainly Gail and Sophie are much better company than I am. Of course today _anyone _would be better company than me.

**To my readers: The most difficult part of the chapter is coming up. If you need to, take a break**


	14. All Fall Down (Part 2)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Tissue alert.**

**Chapter 12: All Fall Down (Part 2)**

The trip down stairs to the dining room is brief. As always, Gail has set the table beautifully. Within minutes, we are seated. Teddy is in his booster seat. Phoebe is in one of the many carriers that we have placed throughout the house for convenience sake. Gail puts the hot dishes on the table, smiling at us and then returns to the kitchen.

"What do we have here?" asks Christian as he opens the lids. "Let's see, Chicken marsala with rice and green beans with almonds. All your favorites, Ana."

"Yuck!" grumbles Teddy. "Want man food."

"You can't have macaroni and cheese every night," replies Christian. "And I know for a fact that you like this dinner also. It's just not your favorite."

He scowls at the fact that Christian has pointed out that this is something that he will eat, the chicken and rice anyway. He always does pick out the mushrooms. Once again, I feel guilty. Why did Gail cook my favorite meal? I'm not hungry anyway. As Christian serves everything up, I feel another stab of guilt.

Why is he serving? I usually do that. Oh, but I haven't made a move. I guess that he is so hungry that he decided not to wait until I remembered to do something about it. Has this happened before? I can't remember. And I didn't realize that he had gotten so skilled at it. But the again, Christian does everything gracefully. I'm the klutz of the family.

We eat in silence. Despite his initial protests, Teddy cleans his plate and then asks for more. I find that although the food is delicious, I don't have much appetite. I pick at my meal. Christian eats heartily, while Phoebe looks on. She nursed so recently that she isn't hungry at all. Then I remember that I have to eat for her sake. Luckily, Christian has not piled my plate with food. I eat slowly and am able to finish the barely warm meal on my plate.

Christian, although he doesn't say anything, looks pleased with me. He looks at me the way he used to when we were first dating and I found it so difficult to eat in front of him. Now I don't really feel self-conscious about it, I'm just not hungry.

"Have you had enough?" he asks solicitously. "You didn't have any lunch."

I give a little shrug.

"I also slept all afternoon," I reply. "I didn't get a chance to build up much of an appetite."

He reluctantly accepts this answer and calls Gail in to clear the table.

"Anything for dessert?" he asks hopefully.

"I baked a blueberry pie this afternoon," she says with a smile.

"Bluebewwy!" cries Teddy. _"My _favowit!"

Christian looks pained.

"I'll bring in a towel to pin over his bib," says Gail, reading his mind.

She returns with the towel and Sophie brings in a plastic cover for the table. There is already another on the floor. After they have him set, Gail returns with three slices of pie.

"Ice cweam?" asks Teddy hopefully.

"No!" says Christian firmly, his face betraying his memory of the last time we had blueberry pie a la mode.

"Thank you, Gail," I say. "But I couldn't eat another bite."

She and Christian exchange one of (what I am being to recognize as) their worried glances, but I don't care. I was not hungry when I ate before, but I was a good girl and cleaned my plate. They cannot force me to eat dessert also.

I feel like I am constantly either in conflict with those around me, or invisible to them. I look over at Teddy who has managed to get blueberry all over the uncovered parts of himself, meaning his hands, face, and hair. He will definitely need a bath after this. Gail will have to clean up the kitchen, which means that I will have to do it. I inwardly groan.

Bath time for Teddy is another kind of playtime. It is amazing that he can even fit in the tub with all of the toys he has in there. He stays in until the water has gotten too cold for him to bear. He looks now like he is getting more blueberries on himself than in his mouth. When he is finished, I walk over and mechanically get what I can off of him with the towel and pick him up to take upstairs.

Then I freeze for a minute, confused. If I carry Ted up, than how can I carry Phoebe at the same time? How have I done this before? I don't ever remember having this problem. Christian, who has been watching me, takes Teddy from me and sets him on the floor. Then he unbuckles Phoebe and hands her to me. I look at him with gratitude, but his eyes are once more filled with concern.

"Why don't I take care of Teddy's bath?" he asks.

But he hates giving Teddy a bath. He hates getting wet and loses patience after about five minutes. Again, I hesitate. There is no reason why I can't do it myself. I can simply set Phoebe in the carrier, sit on the floor and watch him. I don't care if I get wet.

But why am I thinking all of this through? These things are a regular part of my daily routine. Why do I feel like I've never done any of this before? Why does the very thought of it make me tired? As I am standing there frozen, Gail walks in.

"I'll take care of Teddy's bath," she says. "You spend some time with Phoebe, Ana. And Mr. Grey, Jason needs to talk to you."

Oh yes, Taylor. I wonder what he needs to talk to Christian about. Probably me. They probably have to talk about how they are going to organize the security so that I don't escape from the house again. Does that make me a prisoner? I left the hospital because I felt like a prisoner there. But I also assured Charlotte, Grace, and Shonda that our security at home would be enough to keep me safe. Then I notice them looking at me.

"What about the dishes?" I ask.

"Almost done," she replies. "If you can bring him upstairs and get him started, I'll come up to relieve you in a couple of minutes."

I stand dazed for a minute. If the dishes are almost done, then it means that Sophie, or worse yet Shonda, is helping her. They shouldn't have to do that.

"I'll help you," says Christian, noticing my inertia. "Then I'll talk to Taylor. Besides, Dr. Tyler will here soon."

Oh that's right, Charlotte will be here. But first I'm sure that she will talk to Shonda first so that she can tell her about all of my transgressions, large and small, since I got up only a couple of hours ago. Numbly, I follow him up. While I go into our room with Phoebe and sit in the rocking chair (I'm afraid that I'd she's sees me in bed, Shonda will give me another black mark) holding Phoebe in my lap. I look down at her, hoping for a smile, but she just looks back at me seriously. Why won't she smile for me?

Outside, in Teddy's bathroom, I can hear the water going into the tub. I can't make out the words over the noise of the rushing water, but I am aware of Teddy's high-pitched voice and Christian's deeper one answering it. Then, I hear Gail come in and Christian comes into our room. He gives Phoebe and I one of his heart-stopping smiles.

"So how are my two best girls?" he asks warmly.

Phoebe returns his brilliant smile with one of her own, bothering me because she still hasn't bestowed such a smile on me. Christian sits on the edge of the bed across from us and smiles back at both of us.

"Well, I have Phoebe's answer," he says cheerfully. "What about Mommy's?"

I unconsciously scowl and his smile fades. As his smile fades, so does Phoebe's and she stares up at me.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asks softly, referring to me.

I feel the tears forming in my eyes again. Now that I have to say it out loud, it sounds so silly.

"Phoebe won't smile at me," I reply, trying, and failing, to keep the hurt out of my voice. "No matter how hard I try, Phoebe won't give me a smile."

Christian looks lost, completely at a loss for words. He looks at Phoebe and knows that he can't get her to smile at me. He can easily coax Teddy into behaving the way he wants, but a three-month old is another story.

It is fortunate that Shonda arrives at the door with Charlotte. She frowns when she notices that Christian and I are just sitting and staring at each other, but for once doesn't comment. Of course with Charlotte standing there, she has to defer to the doctor.

"Dr. Charlotte is here," she announces, almost unnecessarily, as Charlotte enters the bedroom.

"Good evening, Ana, Christian, Phoebe," she says in her soft, comforting voice.

I feel myself relax a little. Here's someone on my side. But then, she puts out her finger to Phoebe and the baby grasps it. She gives her a gentle smile and Phoebe smiles back. I look away.

"Ain't that cute, Dr. Charlotte?" says Shonda. "Why she just learned how to smile today!"

Charlotte looks pleased until she sees the sad look on my face and the even sadder look on Christian's. Suddenly, she's all business.

"Shonda," she says briskly. "Could you bring in a chair for me? Unless there's another place that you prefer to talk, Ana?"

I am stumped by her question. I hadn't thought about where we could talk. But then again, I had failed to consider when we made the arrangements that I would be getting private therapy sessions at home. Do I want to do it here? Charlotte sees my indecision and makes her own choice.

"I think that it would be better if we found another room to chat in," she states firmly. "We may cover some rough territory and it would be better if you didn't have to think about that kind of thing in your bedroom. It will make it more difficult for you to get peaceful sleep later."

"That makes sense," agrees Christian. "We have quite a number of rooms downstairs. Ana has an office and there is a library with comfortable chairs and a couch. How does that sound?"

I hadn't thought about either room, of course. I know that we need privacy and both rooms have doors that close. But once again, my indecision stymies me. What is my problem?

"How about the library?" Charlotte suggests. "I don't want our talks to feel like business meetings."

I shrug and say, "Whatever."

If my lack of interest bothers her, she doesn't comment on it. But now I have to decide what to do with Phoebe. Do I take her with me or give her to someone else? Gail is busy with Teddy and I don't know where Sophie is. Christian has to meet with Taylor. Shonda isn't a nanny. I am at a total loss again.

Charlotte has been carefully observing my behavior. She seems to have read my dilemma.

"If you were giving Teddy a bath," she asks. "And there was no one else to take Phoebe, what would you do with her?"

"I would put her in the carrier in the bathroom," I reply automatically.

"Then, why don't you do that now?" she says.

Yes, that makes sense, I think. Why didn't I figure that out for myself? It's completely logical thing to do. So I walk over to the bathroom and strap her into the carrier. For a second, Gail smiles up at me, but it would never do to take an eye off Teddy for more than a second. I look away quickly in case Phoebe decides to smile at Gail. I exit the bathroom and meet Charlotte in the hallway. Shonda and Christian have disappeared.

"Lead the way," she says, gesturing with her hand.

I take her downstairs to the library and close the door. She sits in one of the comfortable armchairs and I take the other one across from her. I would feel ridiculous sitting on the couch. I feel myself tense up as she looks at me closely.

"So how have things gone since you came home?" she asks.

"Hasn't Shonda told you?" I ask defensively.

"Shonda has told me what has _happened _since you arrived home, from her perspective," she replies. "But her job is to describe your behavior to me. I'm not asking you to do that. I want to know how you think that things have gone. Do you feel good about what has happened? Is it what you thought would happen if you came home? Do you feel any different?

"These are things that Shonda can't know, unless you have shared them with her, which you haven't. Now she doesn't expect you to, unless you want to, however, anything that you tell her, she will tell me. She and I are partners in your medical treatment. We will have no secrets from each other, although you can be sure of our confidentiality where others are concerned."

"Even Christian?" I ask.

"Even Christian," she confirms. "But he understands that unless you give us permission, we can't tell him anything."

"But I have had several conversations with Flynn about him," I say uncertainly.

"Then Christian must have given him his permission to tell you whatever it is that you wanted to know," she explains. "In fact, Christian probably had to sign a release for him to do that. That's the way that the law works. If you want Shonda and I to tell him anything that you say in confidence, we will also ask for a signed release."

"Is that to protect yourselves from a lawsuit?" I wonder.

"No," she says. "It is to protect your privacy."

"Do you think that his feelings will be hurt if I don't sign a release?" I ask worriedly. I really don't want her and Shonda talking about me to Christian behind my back.

"No," she replies. "There are many things about this situation that are hurting your husband, but that is not one of them."

"I know that I am hurting him," I say, feeling awful. "And Teddy and Phoebe and probably just about anyone who loves me. But I can't help myself. I want to do what is right. I intend to do what is right. But then I just don't have the energy."

"I know. I can sense that you want to do the right thing," she says. "They understand that better than you think, even Teddy and Phoebe."

"Is that why Phoebe won't smile at me?" I ask. "Teddy tries to make me smile or laugh. Why doesn't she?"

"Phoebe is too young to understand that kind of thinking," she replies kindly. "Phoebe is relating to you more empathetically. She is reflecting your emotions, even if she sees you smiling. When she is older, I think that she will be a sensitive little soul, more in tune with the feelings of others rather than her own.

"Teddy is more like his father; but I am sure that you have noticed that. He wants to fix everything, control it so that everyone is happy. He is very sure of himself in this respect. Phoebe is more like you. And that, by the way, is not a bad thing."

"Shonda told you what I said then," I reply.

"You know that she did," answers Charlotte. "I know that your immediate instinct is to be more careful about what you say around her, but it would really be better if you didn't. We both know that you want, more than anything, for this whole situation to go away. But that isn't going to happen unless you get some help in consciously making it go away. The bad news is that this won't go away on its own. The good news is that there is no reason why you can't recover and go back to a normal, happy life."

She is looking at me with that wide-opened honesty that I have come to recognize as her hallmark. But now that confuses me. I had intended to say and do everything perfectly so that we could end all of this nonsense once and for all. Okay, going for a midnight swim was my wake up call to shape up.

I want to shape up. Why can't I? Every time I feel like I've figured out how to move forward, I get confused. My brain feels blurry and my thoughts feel muddled. I feel like I can't even make simple decisions anymore.

Charlotte is very patient. I don't know how she sits there while I stare blankly into space and don't say anything. But I don't even know what to say. Did she just ask me a question? I search my mind. No, I didn't hear a question in there. Or did I? What did she ask when she first walked in? I can't remember. I better not say that. I decide to avoid that.

"I don't know what to say," I reply.

"Well, why don't you go with the truth," she suggest. "How have things gone since you have returned home?"

Oh, right, that is what she asked earlier. And I avoided it, dodged it. Of course that is one of _my_ trademarks. I am very good at distracting people when I don't want to answer their questions. But Charlotte is not going to be so easy. Well, considering what Christian is probably paying her to be here, I suppose that I should be giving him his money's worth.

"Well," I say evasively. "It's not going the way that I thought it would."

"How did you think that it would go?" she asks.

"Differently," I reply.

"In what way?" she asks, refining her question.

Okay, I think, I am going to have to throw her a bone. Let's see. What has Shonda already told her? What behaviors has she observed? Oh, she probably told her how reluctant I was to get out of bed, not to mention how long I slept.

"Well, I'm more tired than I thought that I would be," I say. "But Shonda told me that it is hard to get good sleep in the hospital."

"Especially when you are up half the night crying because you miss your children," she adds sympathetically. "Are you happier being home with them?"

Why do I have to think about this one? Of course, I'm happier. But Teddy has a little bit more energy than I can cope with right now and Phoebe won't smile at me. But maybe I should view happiness on a relative scale. Compared with being in the hospital and being away from them, I do feel better. I guess you could call it happier. But "happy" to any degree is not exactly what I would call myself right now.

"If you put it that way," I finally say. "I would have to say yes."

"Okay," she says, looking at me closely. "Ana, I notice that every time that I ask you a question, you are taking several minutes to formulate an answer. I suspect that you are having some kind of inner dialogue with yourself before you speak. Am I right?"

Oh, what the hell? If I don't give her the answer she is looking for, she will just keep probing anyway.

"Yes," I say shortly.

She raises her eyebrows at my tone, but then responds kindly.

"That is not a bad thing," she says. "In fact it could be a very good thing, if my questions are making you ponder things that you may not have considered before. Is that true?"

"Yes," I admit in a less harsh tone.

She relaxes back in her chair. I hadn't realized that she had been leaning forward. Her eyes seem to betray two different emotions, concern and relief. That confuses me. Shouldn't she be relieved that I am doing well enough here? What could she be concerned about? Then she surprises me.

"Are you sorry that you came home?"

"Of course not!" I respond immediately.

She gives me a smile.

"Ah! An instantaneous response!" she says. "Well, I'm glad that you didn't have to think about that one or I might have been afraid that I made the wrong decision back there in the hospital."

"Look," I say, as I hear the words flowing out of my mouth. "Okay, everything's not as terrific as I thought that it would be. Yeah, and it's harder than I thought it would be. But now that I'm home, there is no way in hell that I am going back to that hospital of my own free will. Got it?"

"Yes, I do," she replies. "And I'm glad that you feel strongly about _something _anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" I demand.

"Up until this point," she explains. "You have been throwing off vibes that you don't care about anything. Or you don't have the energy to care. Like it or not, those are two symptoms of depression, as are the sleeping a lot and lack of appetite, not to mention all of the negative feelings about yourself. You also seem easily confused and unable to focus very well on anything for any length of time. Knowing this, is it fair to say that you are depressed?"

Damn, she's good.

"If you put it that way . . ."

"Yes," she replies emphatically. "I am putting it that way."

"Okay, maybe I'm a little depressed," I grudgingly admit. "But I am not clinically depressed or whatever you call it."

Now it's her turn to do the pondering. Then she seems to come to a decision.

"Okay," she says. "I think that I have given you enough to think about for one night. And you've given me enough to think about. Since these sessions can get rather intense, I would prefer to limit them to an hour."

An hour? When did an hour pass? I look at the clock. It's a little after eight.

"Why don't you help put your son to bed?" she suggests. "And your daughter is probably hungry again. I know that you don't have a lot of energy, so don't forget to save some for your husband."

Poor Christian. I know that I am dreadfully neglecting him. And yet there he is, standing by my side as always, figuratively as well as literally. What would I do without him?

"What are you thinking about, Ana?" Charlotte asks.

"My husband," I admit freely. "I feel bad because he is being so strong for me and I am not giving him anything in return."

"I don't think that he expects anything," she says quietly.

"What do you mean?" I ask puzzled.

"Your husband loves you unconditionally," she replies. "Everything that he says and does screams it. That means that he loves you and does not expect anything in return. That's what unconditional means. This kind of love is very rare between two people in this twenty-first century world. Our society and culture do not encourage it."

"Oh," I say. "But how do you know that? That he unconditionally loves me that is. What is screaming it?"

"This kind of illness is the kind that can make or break a marriage," she explains. "Even though it is very early going, I can see that in the end, he will prove that his love to you is abiding, faithful, and without regret. It is a very great gift and my goal is that one day you will once again be able to return it."

"How do you know that I ever have, returned it, that is?"

"That is an easy one," she answers smiling. "A love with this kind of depth does not occur in a relationship unless the feelings of both parties are fully reciprocated. Can I ask you something that is sure to make you mad?"

"Go for it," I sigh, since just about everything is making me mad or sad today.

"Do you feel as though everyone would be happier if you weren't here?"

The silence in the room is deafening. I feel as though she has just taken a knife and sliced open my heart. Of course I have felt like that, on more than one occasion in fact. She doesn't have to ask me that and she knows it. It takes all of my self-control to keep from firing her on the spot. How dare she rip open my soul to examine? She reads my reaction correctly.

"You don't have to answer that," she says soothingly. "I won't make you say it out loud. I can see that just putting the thought in your mind has created enough inner turmoil for you. But I just want to put one more thought in your mind.

"If you were to disappear tomorrow, not into the hospital, but off the face of the earth forever, can you honestly say that these people who love you so much would be better off without you? Do you want to inflict that irrevocable damage on their lives forever? Your children will never have another mother. Your husband will never love another woman as much as he loves you. Even your extended family, like your mother-in-law will be touched. Any action that you take that destroys the fabric of the tapestry of your family to that degree will unleash a pain that will never end."

Without looking at her, I stand and walk away from her. I can't even look at her. I hear her get up from her chair and move towards the door. Then she speaks to me.

"Goodnight, Ana, I will see you in the morning."

Before I can whip around to confront her, she is gone. I feel myself choking on my tears. How dare she guess at my thoughts and the hurl them back in my face? I hear the door open and recognize Christian's footsteps right away. I turn to face him when he stops behind me without touching me. His face is a mask of wretchedness. It looks like a reflection of my inner pain. I cannot bear it, so I hurl myself into his arms, bury my face in his chest, and sob.

His arms tighten around me and I can feel that he is burying his face in my hair. He smells of Christian, but even that most intoxicating of scents cannot sooth my wounded spirit. I cling tighter and weep harder.

"There, there, my love," he says gently, his voice infused authentic devotion and care. "I will always be here for you, for as long as there is breath in my body."

Any other woman might think that her man is making an extravagant claim that he cannot possibly mean, but not my husband. I am not able to respond adequately to this declaration of the unconditional love that Charlotte insists that he hold for me. I cannot lie. My sobbing is so out of control that I can scarcely breathe anymore. I want to repeat his words, but they frighten me. The next thing I know, Shonda is there.

"Ana, your baby is crying for her mamma," she says gently. "She is hungry again. Ain't nobody can feed her but you. You need to pull yourself together, honey. I know it's hard, but it's for Phoebe's sake."

"Can't you see she is beside herself?" asks Christian, more sorrowfully than defensively.

"I ain't blind, Mr. Christian," she responds sharply. "But one of the reasons why she is home is so that she can feed that child. Now I don't expect you to know this, but breast-feeding releases some very positive hormones for the mother. If Ana can settle enough to feed little Phoebe, then she will feel better. Ans she won't have to do noting else."

"Oh," he says.

"Now why don't you go and read to Teddy or whatever it is you do to settle that little hooligan upstairs," she says. "He's giving Mrs. Gail one hell of a time and she needs to get her little Sophie in bed. I'll take care of Ana, here and then she'll come up to kiss the boy goodnight and feed her baby."

"Okay," he says, looking overwhelmed by the fact that she has taken charge.

After he is gone, she puts her arm around me and says, "Ana, honey, we all want to keep you home. Don't worry about a little crying. Sometimes after a session, a good cry is what you need. That's why I'm here. I understand these things the way that these folks who love you can't."

My tears have stopped now and I look at her mutely. I hadn't known why it always made me feel a little better to nurse to Phoebe. But knowing it now, gives me the strength to help me to pull myself together.

"Did you hear me, honey?" she asks.

I nod.

"Are you going to come upstairs with me and say goodnight to Teddy and feed little Phoebe?"

I nod again.

"Good girl," she says and leads me out the door.

As we go upstairs, a vague memory of our times in the playroom at Escala seeps into my brain. Whenever I pleased Christian when we were acting out a scene, he would always say, "Good girl." It meant that I was giving him the control that he craved. The control that he only got over me was in that room.

When were we last in there? I don't remember. And sadly, I don't care. Like one of Teddy's towers, I guess that the blocks of my life were built too high. Maybe I was too happy. Maybe I didn't really deserve it and I am now paying for it. Maybe this is my punishment for having such a wonderful life. The words echo in my mind.

"All fall down."


	15. The Broken Mirror

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: I will be focusing the next couple of chapters on the points of view of characters other than Ana. We all need a break from those intense emotions.**

**Chapter 13: The Broken Mirror**

During the past two weeks, things have settled into a new pattern in the household. It is interesting that Shonda has slipped so easily into the fabric our lives. She is a flamboyant presence and I know that sometimes she drives Mr. Grey crazy, but she is also fiercely protective of Ana. Jason likes her because she actually makes his job easier. She is able to keep a much closer eye on her than any of the security team. She has also promised to inform us if there is anything going on with Ana that could create a security risk.

We have passed through the Thanksgiving holiday without any incidents. We kept it a simple day. Mr. Grey invited Jason, Sophie, and I to enjoy the meal that I cooked for them. I think that things get difficult for him when he and Ana are by themselves at the table with the children. But adding our family to the mix made it easier for both him and Ana. She was moping a bit because Shonda had taken a couple of days off to visit her sister in California.

But I don't think that her mood was due to the fact that Shonda was gone per se. It was because she realized how much she now depends on Shonda to get through her day. Dr. Charlotte stayed in Seattle for the holiday, but had no interest in socializing. However, she did come over during the day when Ana had decided that she didn't want to come down to the dining room to eat. It is the kind of thing that Shonda would normally be able to convince her to do.

I have no idea of what they talk about, but Dr. Charlotte comes to see her twice a day. From what I have seen, there doesn't seem to be much progress in her treatment. But even Dr. Flynn had warned us that we could not expect miracles overnight. This illness is insidious and it took months, if not years, to insinuate itself into Ana's mind. It will probably not be excised any time soon.

My job has really shifted from housekeeper to nanny. Since I never had any children of my own, it is an interesting experience. I am lucky that Teddy and Sophie have developed an almost sibling-like relationship. It means that Sophie doesn't feel neglected when we have to spend so much time in the big house.

To compensate for the extra hours, Mr. Grey has insisted on raising my already generous salary. While the money is nice, as is the vicarious motherhood, I wish with all of my heart that Ana would get better. But it doesn't take much to create a setback.

It is fifteen days after Ana has returned from the hospital, and Kate decides that she is no longer going to abide by Mr. Grey's rules regarding visitors. She has been harassing us with phone calls, especially throughout the holiday, demanding to know why Ana no longer answers her cell phone. She is convinced that this is another one of Mr. Grey's "control schemes," to keep her away from Ana. No matter how many times Dr. Trevelyan talks to her, she does not let up.

This afternoon we are having a relatively peaceful time. The children have just woken up from their naps. Ana is nursing Phoebe in Teddy's room as he eats his afternoon snack. The day housekeeper has just left, and Kate comes barging into the house, right before Dr. Tyler is due to arrive.

"Ms. Kavanagh," I say in surprise, when I open the door. "I'm, er, surprised to see you. Um, how did you get in the gate? Harrison didn't call to say that he had let someone in."

She tosses her reddish blonde hair over her shoulder. Her green eyes flash and she rudely charges past me without answering my question. I suspect that she entered as the housekeeper was leaving. Once inside she turns to me.

"Where is she, Mrs. Taylor?" she asks rather loudly, in a tone that is barely civil. "Where does he have her locked up?"

Before I can answer, Shonda comes storming down the stairs. She plants herself directly in front of the winding staircase, with arms folded in front of her. I steel myself for the confrontation. Secretly, I am rooting for Shonda. At the moment she holds the emotional advantage, as she acts like a crazed, mother bear protecting her injured cub. I stand silently off to the side to watch the drama.

"Who the hell are you, come a busting in here and causing all this racket?" demands Shonda in her best "ghetto" voice. "You lucky you didn't wake those babies up."

"I'm Kate Kavanagh," she answers arrogantly. "Mrs. Grey's sister in-law. And who, might I ask, are you?"

"You can go ahead and ask all you want," replies Shonda smartly. "I'm Ana's nurse Shonda. I am here to take care of her and make sure that she stays protected from the likes of you, come a breaking in like you own the place. Now if I am not mistaken, you don't belong here. Mrs. Gail, is her name on the list of approved visitors?"

"No," I admit reluctantly, a little fearful of Kate's reaction.

Kate rolls her eyes.

"Ana is my friend," she declares. "I have known her longer than any of you. Now move out of the way so that I can see her."

"Well, her mamma's known her much longer then that," retorts Shonda. "And she's not allowed to come in here neither. Nor her daddy. What makes you so special?"

"I'm her best friend," she declares proudly. "She is like a sister to me. In fact, since we married brothers, so that makes us sisters in real life."

"Well, honey," replies Shonda. "Ain't you never heard that sisters don't always get on so good? I've known some sisters in my time that was like oil and water. Now why don't you move your skinny, little butt out of here a'fore Mr. Sawyer sees you and removes it for you?"

Kate once again tosses her hair, her green eyes flashing, as Shonda glowers at her. They make an interesting contrast as each asserts her "rights" over Ana. I can't help but feel a little pleased because this is one fight that Kate can't win. Shonda holds the trump card, and she's about to come in the front door. When the bell chimes, I hurry to get it. It's Dr. Charlotte.

"What's wrong Gail?" she whispers the minute she sees my face.

"Kate's here," I whisper back. "Demanding to see Ana. Shonda's holding her ground at the bottom of the stairs, but I am afraid that Ana will hear the argument and get upset."

Dr. Charlotte grimaces at Kate's name. No doubt Ana has told her all about her strong-willed sister-in-law and best friend.

"Let me deal with this," she says grimly. "Ana is not ready for Kate."

As she walks toward the great room with a determined stride, I think about those people that Ana has been ready to see recently. It's a short list, Mr. Carrick Grey and her old friend Jose. It was a great shock to me when Jose showed up one day at the door (with his fiancee in tow), but Jason told me that he had recently been added to the guest list at Ana's request.

He had his camera in hand and had been invited to take pictures of the kids. Maritza is a sweet girl and the evening passed quickly. He even managed to cheer Ana up with his usual antics with Teddy. They even got her to smile and laugh a little, especially when Shonda called him a fool.

I follow the doctor now into the great room where the stand off is still taking place. It is obviously at a stalemate.

"I told you, Miss Kate," growled Shonda, keeping her voice low. "Ana does not want to see you. Now git! Before she comes down and sees you!"

"Just try and stop me!" Kate replies very loudly now, as if she wants Ana to hear. "I am here to see Ana and you are not going to stop me!"

"Ms. Kavanagh," interrupts Dr. Charlotte smoothly, in a calm, well-modulated voice. "I am Dr. Charlotte Tyler. I understand that you want to see Ana."

"Well it's a good thing that you do," she replies seething. "Because this . . . woman obviously doesn't."

Dr. Charlotte ignores her sarcastic tone.

"This woman, as you have addressed her, has a name," she answers. "Shonda is Ana's private nurse. She is here to take care of her and to carry out the instructions that I give for her treatment. One of my instructions is that Ana only has to see the people that she wants to. You are not among them."

"The hell I'm not!" she snarls. "Let me talk to Ana!"

"No!" say Shonda and Dr. Charlotte together.

I notice that Sawyer has moved quietly into the doorway at the side of the room. I glance over anxiously at him, but he gives me a little nod. I can see that he will only move in if he has to. Having to forcibly remove Kate from the house could start a whole world of trouble with the family. Trouble that no one needs right now. It would also upset Ana greatly.

We hear a movement up stairs and then feet scurrying away. It's not just Teddy. There are also heavier footsteps. Ana must know who has disturbed the peace of the house.

"Go upstairs, Gail," says Dr. Charlotte quickly. "Stay with Ana while I deal with _her."_

The last thing that I see out of the corner of my eye is Shonda and Dr. Charlotte converging on Kate and whispering in anxious voices. I go up the stairs as calmly as I can to find Ana.

She's not in Teddy's room or her own room. I look in the other rooms and find her in Ray's room, seated in the leather recliner with Phoebe in her lap and Teddy at her side. She appears to be cowering. Teddy pats her hand.

"It's okay, Mommy," he says comfortingly. "Auntie Kate no come up. Auntie Shonda fix her wagon."

Despite the tense situation, I have to smile. Teddy had picked up the expression "fix your wagon" a few days ago when Shonda told him not to leave his cars in the hallway where someone could slip and fall.

"No wace wagons, Auntie Shonda," he said earnestly. "Wace cars!"

"You not gonna be racing nothing, little man," she answered, hands on her hips and bending over him. "If someone breaks their neck on one of them things. You don't take more care, then I'll fix your little wagon for sure."

"Huh?" he looked puzzled.

Sawyer, who had been keeping a discreet watch on things then bent down and explained into his ear in a stage whisper, "Auntie Shonda's gonna whip your butt!"

Teddy then ran around behind him and peeked out nervously.

"Little man be good, Auntie Shonda," he says fearfully. "No cars in hall."

And as always, Shonda softens her fearsome stance once he gets the message.

"That's all right, little man," she says. "Just make sure nobody hurts theirselves on those dang things. Pick them up when you're done with them is all."

But Teddy's comforting statement now, so sincerely expressed, brings a small smile to Ana's face. She looks up at me.

"They aren't going to have a big argument, Gail?" she asks nervously. "Are they?"

"Dr. Charlotte is with them," I say. "She'll make them play nice. But Sawyer is standing by just in case."

"Dr. Charlotte fix her wagon," gloats Teddy. "Sawyer too."

Teddy, like Mr. Grey, has become very protective of his mother in the past two weeks. He knows that if Ana has brought them in here for shelter, that she is frightened of something or someone. However, it is only a few minutes before Shonda and Dr. Charlotte came upstairs looking for us.

"In here," I call from the doorway.

"You hiding from someone?" asks Shonda cheerfully. "My word, that woman is a spitfire."

"She does have very strong emotions," Dr. Charlotte agreed. "For a minute, I thought that I would not be able to reason with her. Then, Mr. Sawyer came in and she knew that fighting us was futile. I think that her feelings may be hurt, but she was so busy spewing forth invective that it was hard to tell."

Ana looked sad at that remark.

"Underneath all of her bravado," she admits. "Kate loves me fiercely. But sometimes it's too fiercely. And she's so definite in her opinions. Right now I just can't deal with her intensity. But I don't want to hurt her feelings either. What should I do?"

"Why don't you write her a note?" suggests Dr. Charlotte. "You can tell her how you feel and explain why you need to be on your own for a while. If she really loves you, she will give you the space that you need to think things through for yourself."

"What do you mean for myself?" she asks.

"Kate is the type of person who always thinks that she's right," she explains. "Now you haven't told me that in so many words, but you have intimated that. She has strong opinions and she exerts them forcefully, as Shonda and I have just witnessed. Unless she can learn to control her desire to control you, I won't let her see you. That is of course you want to see her."

Ana looks thoughtful.

"I really don't want to see her," she says. "But I don't want to hurt her feelings."

"Ana, honey," replies Shonda. "That woman has got the thickest skin I've ever seen. She would be able to hurt you much more than you may be hurting her. You worry about yourself and let her worry about herself."

Ana looks doubtful, but Dr. Charlotte decides that the conversation is over for the moment, at least in front of us.

"Come on, Ana," she says. "Let's go to the library and talk."

Ana willingly hands me Phoebe and follows her out. I get ready to bring the children back to Teddy's room. But Shonda has something to ask me.

"Mrs. Gail," she says urgently. "How did Ms. Kavanagh get past those locked gates? She don't have the code, does she?"

"I don't think so," I say slowly. "If she did, I'm sure that she would have come already. It's possible that she waited until someone was driving out. The housekeeper left right before she came in."

"Ain't anyone watching those cameras?" she asks. "I mean, no disrespect to your husband and his team, but if she could get in, couldn't anyone else?"

I think about her words and read the concern in her eyes. She is right of course. Since Jason is with Mr. Grey at Grey House and Sawyer is on the duty in the house, one of the new men is watching the cameras in the security control center. I know that I will have to tell Jason as soon as he gets home, although knowing Sawyer, he was probably on the phone the minute that he knew she was there.

"I'm sure that Sawyer has already called Jason to let him know," I reply. "The new man, Harrison, is watching the cameras. I wouldn't be surprised if Jason was yelling at him as we speak. You're right. Kate is tenacious, but if she can get through, anyone else could too."

"Tay-yer fix her wagon too?" asks Teddy, now obsessed with wagon fixing.

"Mmm, hmm," says Shonda. "This little pitcher over here has ears as big as an elephant."

Teddy looks confused, and turns to the mirror to examine his ears carefully. He mutters to himself, "Teddy no have elephant ears."

But Shonda doesn't add anything. Instead she goes off to her room to relax for a bit. Ana is always very emotional after her sessions with Dr. Charlotte, and Shonda is the only one equipped to handle her. But she also needs to keep herself well rested. At first I felt bad about it, but then she explained it to me.

"You're too involved with her emotionally to be much help to her, Mrs. Gail," she said. "You get too upset yourself, so does Mr. Christian. I have my professional distance. It's hard because I've never lived with a patient like this before. You know, or felt this close to one. But I can do it. I know my job. And I'm lucky I got someone like Dr. Charlotte to work with."

So I turn my attention to the children. My cell phone rings and Sawyer lets me know that Sophie is home and doing her homework in the apartment. After Ana discovered that Sophie was playing with Teddy before she did her schoolwork, she insisted that she stop.

"I do not want Sophie to take on adult responsibilities at her age," she said. "If she wants to play with Ted after her own work is done, then fine. But her own work and play come first."

I couldn't explain to her that it was not in Sophie's nature to put her own needs first. In fact, the only time that I had really see her stand up for herself was after Jeannine moved her to Colorado and tried to take away Jason's visitation. But I can also see that right now, a part of her desire to help comes from the fact that she is trying to forget her own problems.

Christmas is coming soon and I know from experience that the first holiday after the death of a loved one is always the hardest. I am concerned that with all the worry about Ana and the coming holiday season, that Sophie's needs might get lost in the shuffle. The new housekeeper, Mrs. Foster, has been doing an excellent job with the cleaning and laundry. She had even begun to prepare meals for me to heat up at dinner before she leaves.

But the children seem to require more attention from me all the time. Ana goes through periods where she can barely get out of bed in the morning, even with Shonda to nudge her along. If she didn't have Phoebe to get up for, I don't think that even Shonda could drag her out. And since Phoebe has started eating cereal and a little fruit mix, she had been nursing, and thus needing Ana, less. Hopefully the drop off will be less drastic than when Teddy decided to wean. That had been pretty tough.

But this latest incident has really upset her. She is still talking with Dr. Charlotte throughout the evening mealtime and will only allow Shonda into the room to bring them dinner. When she returns with the dirty dishes, one of them is barely touched. I don't even have it ask to know that it is Ana's meal.

Later that night, after the children, including Sophie, are settled in bed, Mr. Grey calls me into his office.

"I understand that we had a visit from my sister-in-law today," he says grimly.

"Yes, sir," I reply. "But she didn't get to see Ana."

"I know," he answers. "I have heard the story from Shonda and Sawyer. What did you see happen?"

"Well," I say. "Kate was very aggressive, but Shonda really held her own against her. And Dr. Charlotte was equally determined. And I understand that Sawyer did his part too."

"Yes, I know," he says. "He had the miserable duty of escorting her to her car and then driving with her up to the gate to be sure that she left. He took a heap of abuse for his action. But what about Ana? Shonda told me that she was hiding in Ray's room during the skirmish."

"She was," I say. "There was no way that she wanted to see Kate. I don't think that she was able to grasp the fact that Kate wasn't getting anywhere near her."

"But Teddy was ready to fix her wagon if she did," he adds, smiling a little.

"Yes, he was," I reply, with a smile of my own. "Ever since he heard that expression from Shonda, he had been using it nonstop."

"But only in appropriate circumstances," he says. "He's quite a smart boy."

"Too smart for his own good sometimes," I comment. "He picks up on every word that we say. He's really beginning to worry about his mother."

"I know he is," answers Mr. Grey, starting to look glum again. "I have spoken to Charlotte about it."

"What did she say?" I ask.

"She told me that if we try to shield him too much that he will only worry more," he says uncomfortably. "He's smart enough to know when we are lying and the lies are worse than the truth. Of course the truth doesn't need to be the whole truth. We should tell him that Mommy is sick, but Auntie Shonda and Dr. Charlotte are going to make her better."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask.

But the minute the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. He looks like I just kicked him in the gut. It's the unspoken fear of every member of the household. Despite everyone's best efforts, including her own, the long and the short of it is that Ana is making no discernible progress out of her depression.

Mr. Grey is saved from confronting the issue when Dr. Charlotte comes in. She looks at both of us sternly.

"You cannot let that happen again," she says. "I have just spent four hours with Ana and she is wrung out. In her present state, an incident like this can get completely blown out of proportion in her mind. It doesn't ate much to trigger her feelings of low self-esteem and self-hatred. Shonda is looking after her now."

This is the first time that we have ever seen Charlotte Tyler outside of her kindly, almost maternal mode. It would seem that, pushed far enough, like anyone else, she is capable of losing her temper.

"It will not happen again," Mr. Grey assures her. "We have gone over the protocol for access to the house with all of the new men three more times. I know that it does no good to say that Kate is one of the most driven, tenacious women that I have ever met, but it is true."

"And for some reason," continues Dr. Charlotte. "Ana is completely intimidated and terrified by the idea of facing her in her present condition. If Ms. Kavanagh is truly, as she claims to be, her best friend, I would hate to meet Ana's worst enemy."

Mr. Grey leans his elbows on the desk and massages his temples.

"Even thinking about Kate makes my head hurt," he says. "Early in our relationship, she did everything that she could to torpedo it. She dropped hints and comments that were designed to piss me off. And when they did, Ana paid the price I am afraid. And she has been insufferable since Ava was born."

"Is that her daughter?" asks Dr. Charlotte. "The 'little wonder,' who is about six months older than Phoebe?"

"Ana has been telling you about her, I see," he replies.

"I'm afraid that the fact that she gave birth to the perfect child three months before Ana gave birth to her second has really given Ana a bit of an inferiority complex," she says. "I have spent a number of hours listening to Ana go on about it, and it is difficult for me to discern if it is a symptom or a contributing cause of the depression."

"Well, I know how I feel about it," comments Mr. Grey. "But I'm afraid that I am not a particularly unbiased observer. You may want to discuss this with my mother. She met both girls around the same time and has watched their dynamic as it has evolved over the past three years."

"Do you mind if I say something?" I ask, feeling a little intimidated myself by the presence of the famous doctor.

"Do you have some insight to share, Gail?" asks Dr. Charlotte.

"Well," I say. "I have certainly not had as much opportunity to observe them together as most of the people around here, but my husband and the other security men have talked about it. They are trained to observe behavior closely, you know."

"Yes, they are," she replies thoughtfully. "But they refuse to talk to me because of the NDA that they signed when they came to work here.

Mr. Grey looks at the floor to avoid her eyes. The first time that Shonda asked me for information and I told her about the NDA, she went charging down to the office and chewed him out real well.

"I will give them permission to answer any of your questions," he mutters. "But only Taylor and Sawyer, maybe Ryan. Taylor is the head of security as you know, but Sawyer has been Ana's close protection for over three years now. If anyone knows anything about her interactions with friends and family, it is he."

"Very good," she nods. "Now Gail, what have you observed?"

"Ana won't like it if I tell you this, but I have always viewed Kate as a kind of bully," I say. "Ana is always concerned that she will hurt her feelings or Kate won't approve of what she is doing. Sometimes I feel like she gives Kate too much power over her life."

"That is the sense that I got," she murmurs thoughtfully. "Tell me more."

"Well, it's always felt like Kate is trying to get her to rebel against Mr. Grey's rules for her safety," I continue. "She either doesn't understand or doesn't want to understand that Mr. Grey has legitimate concerns with regard to her safety and that of the children. Since Mr. Grey's brother Elliot, her husband, is not nearly as high profile, the same concerns don't exist for her. In the past, she has made it difficult for the security team to do their job."

"Why do you think that Ana listens to her?" she asks.

"I think that Kate knows how to manipulate Ana into either rebelling against Mr. Grey or doing something that she doesn't want for fear of losing her friendship," I explain. "I think that this is why she doesn't want to see her now. She knows that Kate will scold her for being weak. Lord knows she has scolded her enough for supposedly giving up on her career."

"She has?" asks Mr. Grey.

"She has," states Dr. Charlotte. "Nothing that Gail is saying is really news to me. It is just good to hear what Ana has told me confirmed by someone else. Ana's perceptions can be very skewed by her negative view of herself."

"In other words," says Mr. Grey. "She blames herself for everything."

"In a manner of speaking," replies Dr. Charlotte. "I suspect that being around Kate reinforces her own negative self-perception. By avoiding her, it helps to keep those bad feelings at bay."

"Well it looks like I am going to have to have a little chat with Kate," says Mr. Grey with a sigh.

"I think that's a bad idea," replies Dr. Charlotte.

"And why is that?"

"Because Ana's second greatest fear, after what she refers to as a 'Kate Kavanagh scolding,' is a battle between the two of you," she says. "None of it is logical, but most of Ana's perceptions are not logical at the moment."

"Is she headed for another . . . breakdown?" I ask fearfully.

Dr. Charlotte looks at us seriously.

"I'm afraid so," she replies. "I thought that she had hit bottom a couple of weeks ago, but she isn't quite there yet. In addition to denying how bad things really are, she is still not acknowledging some things from the past that are still haunting her."

"Is it something that I have done?" asks Mr. Grey, as if he is in great pain.

"I can ease your mind about that," she replies. "Ana has been very open and forthcoming about her relationship with you. The places that she refuses to go with me are places from the time before she met you. Quite frankly, you are her reason for living, even more so than either of the children. Her only fear where you are concerned is that you will get tired of all the pain and grief that she is causing you and leave her."

"How many times . . . "

"Perception, Mr. Grey," she interrupts. "Not reality."

Mr. Grey and I look at each other. Because I have read all of Dr. Charlotte's books, I have a feeling that I know what she is getting at.

"Do you think that Ana's mirror is broken?" I ask.

"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Grey asks.

"Each of us," explains Dr. Charlotte. "Has our own internal mirror into which we look to see ourselves and how we look. Ana's mirror is broken, or better put, distorted by all of the negative feelings that she has about herself. She sees all of the bad, or perceived bad, things in herself, but none of the good. In other words, she is incapable of perceiving her own beauty."

"When we were first dating," he says slowly. "She used to say that she didn't understand what I saw in her. She viewed me as perfect, to quote her, handsome, smart, kind, funny, generous. No matter how many times I told her how beautiful she was, she always brushed me off."

"I know," answers Dr. Charlotte. "She still doesn't know what you see in her. It is quite sad that such a special young woman cannot view herself positively. It's one of our biggest hurdles with her."

"So for now we will keep Kate away," he says. "I will talk to Mother about it. I haven't told her about this afternoon's fiasco yet. She will no doubt be furious when she hears."

"Well, it's your job tonight to call Grace and fill her in. Oh, and to get a good night's rest," she says. "Gail, it's your job to get some sleep too. You are working long hours. It is important that all of you stay healthy and well-rested. Dealing with Ana in her present state is very stressful for all of you."

After I close the front door behind her, I reflect on everything that we heard tonight from Dr. Charlotte. But the most frightening part for me was realizing that we were dealing with a young woman with a broken mirror. However, at least we understand a little better what is happening with her. Hopefully, we can make a little progress soon. This illness is wearing all of us down to one degree or another, not just Ana.

The most difficult thing is staying strong for the children, especially Sophie. Each night when I go to bed, I pray that when I wake up in the morning, Ana will be much improved. Unfortunately, it does not feel like it is going to happen any time soon.


	16. Jealousy

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 14: Jealousy**

After speaking with Kate this afternoon, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I got a phone call from Christian. I knew that something was up when Kate called, because she tends to leave most of the communication with us to Elliot. However, I think that she was determined that we would hear her side of the story before Na's caretakers. After she was done talking, it took a great deal of self-control not to really let her have it.

For almost three weeks, we have been trying to explain to her that Ana does not want to see her or pretty much anyone else. I think that she was able to tolerate this, even after Carrick was allowed to see her. After all, Carrick is the children's grandfather and has certain rights that supersede hers. But she really lost her temper when she heard that Jose had been over for a visit. In fact, he had come with his fiancée Maritza. And that was probably what lit the fuse.

Charlotte had thought that it would be good for Ana to see an old friend who would cheer her up. Ana immediately thought of Jose. The days are long past that Jose is any kind of rival to Christian for Ana's affections or even an unrequited lover. During his final year of college, he met the sister of one of his old high school friends at a party. By that time, Ana was pregnant and she and Christian were very much established as an" old married couple." Maritza is the best thing that ever happened to him.

Like Jose, she is perpetually cheerful and amusing. Ironically, she looks a bit like a Hispanic version of Ana with her long dark hair and large brown eyes. Her complexion is a lovely olive shade and she has full lips. She is also small-boned, but unlike Ana, very graceful. She is a talented salsa dancer and she and Jose are a real treat to watch on the dance floor. He absolutely adores her.

Jose told her all about his "lost love," Ana, and at the beginning she would tease him about her "rival." However, no one was happier for him than Ana. She had always hoped that he would meet the girl of his dreams. After dating for over a year, Jose finally popped the question last summer and they will be married next June. Considering everything that Jose has done for Ana over the years, we are all happy that he is finally getting his own happy ending.

Last weekend, Jose and Maritza went over to the house for dinner so that he could take pictures of the kids. Since Teddy was born, he has had the role of "court photographer," creating a beautiful series of photographs documenting the children's development.

The visit was apparently very successful. Maritza cooed and crooned over Phoebe in Spanish while Jose (also known as "Uncle Joe") and Teddy laughed and messed around. Christian said that if there wasn't such a large size difference, it would have been difficult to tell who the bigger "kid" was.

Even Shonda liked him. She told him that he would be a better "court fool" than court photographer. But she was also pleased that he cheered Ana up for one night at least. And he received the ultimate compliment from her when she told him to come back real soon and to make sure to bring back his "sweet, little honey."

Unfortunately, by chance, the next night Jose and Maritza had dinner with Kate and Elliot so that he could photograph Ava at her sixth month milestone. While Jose had been clued in not to say anything about visiting Ana, no one had told Maritza. She innocently let the cat out of the bag when she raved about Phoebe. Kate almost lost it in front of them. She managed to control herself until after they left, at which time she ranted and raved to Elliot about it.

Today, she took matters into her own hands and showed up unannounced at the front door. Kate's side of the story is that she went over to see Ana, but was only able to get as far as the staircase when she was blocked by the rudest nurse that she had ever met. It sounded as though Shonda stood her ground the way that only Shonda can. I only wish that I could have been a fly on the wall when Shonda gave Kate her usual dose of sass and then some.

It was a good thing that Charlotte showed up for a session with Ana and convinced Kate to leave without any further scene. Kate wasn't any happier with her than she was with Shonda, but at least she couldn't find any way to insult her. Kate is convinced that they have a conspiracy going on with Christian to keep Ana locked up from everyone else. She still can't understand that it is Ana who is hiding away from the world and that she has a particular fear of her.

"Good evening, Mother," says Christian, when I pick up. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well," I reply cautiously. "How are you?"

A long silence ensues.

"Well," he says hesitantly. "We could be better. Kate dropped by today to try and visit."

"Yes, I know," I answer. "Kate called me earlier to tell me what happened."

"Did she tell you what happened with Ana during the skirmish?" he asks with a sharp edge in his voice. "Of course, she didn't. She wasn't there to pick up the pieces. Charlotte had to spend nearly four hours talking to her before she was able to face us again."

"No," I reply. "That's not the part of the story that I heard. I got an earful about how Shonda wouldn't let her near Ana. According to her, both Shonda and Charlotte are on your payroll for the express purpose of keeping her away from Ana and isolating her from all who really love her."

"That figures," he says. "This whole thing is about Kate, nothing but Kate. Have you ever noticed? It's always about Kate. Damn that woman! If I thought for one minute that Ana would benefit from a visit by her, I would send Taylor over right away to personally escort her to the house. The fact is that for whatever reason, known only to her, Ana does not want to see Kate. In fact, she was completely irrational from the moment that she realized that Kate was in the house and was trying to see her."

"I was afraid of that," I reply. "But before I laid her out in lavender, I wanted to make sure that I was right."

"Why the hell did she do this?" he asks in frustration.

"Jose," I answer simply. "Jose and Maritza came to the dinner at their house the other night because Jose was taking pictures of Ava. Maritza didn't realize that Kate was so bent out of shape about not being able to visit Ana and mentioned their visit to your home the night before."

"So Kate was pissed because Jose was allowed to see Ana and she wasn't?"

"Yes, that's the situation in a nutshell," I say. "But she didn't say anything to me about visiting Ana until after the scene today. I think that she knew what I would say if she suggested it."

"What is it with that woman?" he asks without expecting an answer. "She comes and goes as she pleases in Ana's life, but expects that Ana will always be waiting for her. All through college Kate was the pretty, popular one while Ana was the bookish, mousy one. I was never really too sure of why Kate even kept Ana around except maybe for the contrast she offered. And I never got the impression that she liked Jose any more than she liked me."

In spite of everything, I have to laugh at that.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"You and Jose," I say. "And Kate. You two are probably the only men that Kate ever met who preferred Ana to her. However, I also think that Kate loves all of the admiration that Ana gives her. To be fair, Kate has always tried to protect Ana and look out for her best interests. She just has a tendency to behave like a bulldozer and crush everything in her path first and ask questions later."

"Mother," he says. "I hate to ask you to do this, but could you speak to Kate and Elliot about this? We really need his help keeping her in line. I just don't have the mental energy to confront her. I know that things would just degenerate into a huge fight and, quite frankly, I don't have the heart for it."

"I understand," I answer sympathetically. "Things are pretty rough, aren't they?"

"That's an understatement," he replied. "There are days when Ana can barely get out of bed."

"That's not unusual for this kind of illness," I tell him. "It's cold comfort to know that, but it's true. I'm sure that Shonda and Charlottle have told you that."

"Yes, they have," he sighs. "And yes, it's cold comfort. Oh, Mother, speaking of Charlotte, she would like to speak with you about what you have observed about Ana and Kate's relationship over the past few years. I am not a very good source of information for her since I am, um, a little biased in my perspective."

"Well, I don't blame you for that," I say. "Why don't I come over to the house tomorrow afternoon? I can visit with Ana, Charlotte, and my grandkids."

"That would be great," he answers cheerfully, but his enthusiasm is hollow. "I am in the middle of a deal negotiation that I really can't just pass off to Ros. I would spend every minute that I could with Ana, but I don't think that it would help. I am not sure that I want to find out either. It hurts, you know?

"That used to be the cure for any of her low moods. I would take her sailing or gliding and her spirits would be lifted. Now, I can't even get her to go for a ride in the R8. She won't leave the children in the house for even ten minutes. Most of the time, she isn't even with them. She just wants to know that they are there."

"Have you suggested that you and Teddy go out for one of your man adventures?" I ask.

Once Ana became so large with Phoebe that she couldn't get out much, Christian used to take Teddy out for some father and son time. They would visit different places like the playground in the neighborhood, and one fine day, he and Mac took him sailing. It was one of those things that created tension with Kate, who pouted when Elliot expressed his envy that he didn't have a son to have "man time" with yet.

Christian jokingly made the suggestion that he and Kate could solve that problem pretty quickly, but that drew annoyance from Kate. She worked very hard to regain her figure as rapidly as possible after Ava was born. I got the impression that she wasn't looking forward to repeating the experience anytime soon, even though she raved about it while it was happening.

Christian is silent as these thoughts pass through my mind. This is not a good sign. Finally he sadly answers me.

"I mentioned it to her the other day," he says. "I thought that it would be good to get Ted out of the house for a while. But she got very upset at the suggestion so I let it drop. Charlotte said that she would talk to her because she thinks that an active kid like Teddy should get out sometimes. It's another one of Ana's irrational ideas."

"What does Charlotte say about her irrational ideas?" I ask carefully.

"We discussed tonight," he replies. "She says that right now Ana's perceptions are kind of messed up. Gail said something about her looking at herself in a broken or distorted mirror. Charlotte said that the problem now is that Ana's perceptions are skewing her view of reality. It's getting really tough to take."

"It sounds like you need a break too."

Again there is silence on the other end.

"That's the odd thing," he says. "I know that I probably do need a break, but I can't bear the thought of leaving Ana for any real length of time. I know that Gail, Shonda, and Charlotte are taking excellent care of her, but I feel like I can give her something that no one else can. I love her so much that it hurts like hell to see her like this. I keep thinking that if I could just do or say that right thing it would make her well again."

"Have you tried discussing this with Flynn?" I ask.

"Oh, we have had some lengthy discussions about it," he say. "And of course everything that Flynn tells me about how these are Ana's issues and the answers are hers to find makes complete sense. But it's hard to let go and see her suffer and not be able to do anything about it."

"Well, I'm glad that on an intellectual level anyway," I say. "That you understand that. Of course emotionally accepting it is another thing."

"And it's hard when she worries that I am going to leave her because I can't deal with her anymore," he continues. "She just doesn't understand that I can't leave her. I can't live without her. I will always be there for her no matter what."

"We all know that and we completely support you," I reply. "Tomorrow morning I will call Ana and see if she will let me come over. And I will talk to Elliot about Kate, not that she listens to him more than anyone else. But she has to get it through that thick skull of hers that she needs to leave Ana alone."

"What about Mia?" he asks. "Does she still want to see her?"

"Yes, she still wants to see her, but I think that she finally realizes that a day at the spa is not going to cure her. She does mean well, you know. Ethan had a long talk with her and she somewhat understands now," I answer. "She is also worried about her finals exams and what she is going to wear to all the holiday functions that she is going to in a couple of weeks."

"Only my sister would put her final exams and her wardrobe in the same category," he says sardonically. "I can guess what her priority is."

"Good," I reply. "Because I still have trouble saying it out loud. I will be very grateful when she has that degree once and for all."

"Tell me," he says, happy to get off the difficult topic of his wife for a while. "Is Ethan really planning on making their engagement official for Christmas?"

"Oh, yes," I say. "He showed me the ring the other day. It's absolutely gorgeous. But he's concerned that you and Elliot have raised the bar so high with regard to romantic proposals. And you know that Mia will expect something big and exciting."

"Well, I wish him luck," he says. "Ana was so easy. All she wanted was hearts and flowers."

Once again, the painful silence falls between us.

"Christian," I say gently. "This will pass. This kind of depression is what they call situational depression. In other words, we can identify a trigger and there is quite probably a biological cause. You better than anyone know that we carry around lots of baggage and can appear to be fine to the outside world. Charlotte Tyler is the best. Since Ana has placed her trust in her, you couldn't have a better doctor treating her. And Shonda is terrific."

"Shonda is wonderful nurse for Ana," he agrees. "She gets tough when she needs it, but is gentle and kind most of the time now. I just wish that she wasn't so hard on Teddy."

I laugh at that.

"Teddy loves every minute," I say. "It's almost like a game with them. He loves calling himself a little man. And it's very cute when he picks up her expressions."

"Yes, well today he was going on about how just about everyone in the house except Phoebe, would be fixing Auntie Kate's wagon," he answers.

I laugh again.

"He's a riot," I say. "And he's great for all of you. He's the comic relief in your lives right now. Don't forget that every now and then you need so find some humor in the situation. One of the reasons that Shonda is so effective in the psych ward is because of that whole ghetto thing she has going on."

"I prefer to forget that whole psych ward thing," he replies grimly. "But what do you mean that she has the whole ghetto thing going on?"

"I'm sure that you've had her thoroughly investigated," she says. "She is hardly from what you might call 'the hood.'"

"Taylor did the background check himself," he says. "All I know is that he cleared her. I wasn't interested in the details."

"I can see how at that time that wouldn't have been foremost in your thoughts," I reply. "But I should let you go. I want to talk to your father about everything that you've told. Maybe he will have some ideas."

"Mother," he replies. "If I haven't told you recently, I love you. I don't know what I would do without you to talk to. I can't even begin to tell you how much your support means to us."

"That's what mothers do," I say warmly. "And fathers. I always knew that Ana was going to be a great mother. We'll all help her through this, and as a family we will all be stronger for it. You'll see."

After we hang up, I want to cry. I hate to see them in so much pain, but as I told him, I think that they are doing everything that they possibly can for Ana. It would be nice if there were a breakthrough before the holidays but I don't see it happening. Holidays are stressful for everyone, but they are especially difficult for people who are depressed. I am sure that Charlotte will work with them on this and alert everyone to the signs of deeper issues.

I know that one great stressor is going to be keeping Ray and Carla at arm's length. Naturally they will want to spend at least part of Christmas with the grandkids, especially since it is Phoebe's first Christmas. Like it or not, Christian is going to have to admit to them the depth of Ana's problems and then somehow diplomatically explain that she simply is afraid to see them because of their reactions. If this was the way that she reacted to Kate being in the house, I can't believe that it would be much different for either of them.

The next day, I have lunch with Charlotte before I go over to the house to visit with Ana and the children.

"Christian said that you want to speak with me about Ana and Kate's friendship," I say once we have placed our order.

"Yes, I do," she replies. "Christian is right to admit that he has no perspective where Kate is concerned. It sounds as though they have had issues with each other since they met."

"That's very true," I admit. "In fact, I know that Christian was not very happy when Elliot and Kate started dating and less than thrilled when they became engaged. However, he held back a lot of his opinions because he loves his brother and wants him to be happy. And he knows that she was Ana's best friend when he met her."

"Well, I am still trying to figure out exactly what Ana sees in her as a friend," she responds. "Ana admires Kate very much and they have had some very good times together. The tension between them started when Ana began to date Christian. For whatever reason, Kate didn't think that Christian was right for Ana. She was very annoyed when she went to Barbados for a family vacation, where Elliot met her and spent all his time with her I might add, that she returned to find Ana and Christian engaged."

"Ana told me that it was a whirlwind courtship," she replies. "They loved each other almost from the moment they met. She had not been opposed to them living together without the benefit of marriage, but Christian wanted to make things permanent right away. In fact, he loves her so much that he refused to have her sign a pre-nup. I found it very surprising that he would trust her so much after only knowing for her, for what? Six weeks."

"Does that ever bother her?" I ask. "That they married so quickly after meeting that is. I sometimes wonder if that might not have put a lot of pressure on her to be the perfect wife, especially after the pre-nup debate."

"No, not at all," she replies. "From what I have seen of both of them, they are both the type of person who finds what he or she wants and wants to make the commitment. Every interaction that I have seen between them shows that they have a very healthy and loving relationship."

"Even though Christian comes with his own set of issues?" I ask. "In the past couple of weeks, I have sometimes wondered if there isn't some unhealthy codependency going on there."

"Well, emotionally, they are very closely bound together," she says. "But I don't think that either one is enabling unhealthy behaviors in the other. And that is really what we consider a codependent relationship to be. Until the recent crisis, Christian had been making excuses for her, but that was mostly out of denial. And she has talked about how she fought for him to 'join her in the light' in the early days of their relationship."

"Well, I can attest to that," I reply. "The first four years of my son's life were hell on earth. He trusted no one when we adopted him. It took us a very long time to put him on the path to wellness. I believe that Ana helped him to complete that journey. Presently, Christian is upset that she is still harking on the issue of how unworthy that she is of him."

"Yes, I know," she says. "But to get back to Kate and Ana. How have they related with one another recently? Ana feels that Kate disapproves of her choice to stay home with the children rather than go right back to work now. Tell me. Is she correct in this assumption?"

"She may well be," I reply. "Obviously, I haven't been privy to every conversation that they have had on the subject. However frequently at family gatherings, Kate would pursue the point with her. Kate is an excellent investigative journalist and I would not be surprised if she won a Pulitzer Prize one day. But she often brings that hard hitting interview style into personal conversations, even when she isn't trying to sniff out a story."

"What do you mean by that?" she asks curiously.

"One of the things about Kate that drives Christian crazy is that whenever she gets wind of something going on with Grey Enterprises, she begins to relentlessly question him, Ana, and anyone else involved," I explain. "There have been several times when we have had to tell her to back off or risk alienating the family."

"Does she? Back off that is."

"Most of the time," I say. "Sometimes she moves into a more subtle mode. But in this case, she has simply refused to back down. And hearing that Jose got to visit Ana the other day, just cranked her up all over again."

"Did she speak with you about it?" she asks.

"Both before and after," I reply. "But Kate has a pretty hard head. When she gets an idea, it's pretty hard to shake her of it."

"I noticed that," she says. "Shonda could certainly have handled her on her own, but it would have been pretty messy. I wish that I had been able to get through to her, but I really feel as though the only reason that we got her out of the house peaceably was that Sawyer asserted his position as Ana's close security."

"Sawyer is extremely protective of Ana," I comment. "And not just because he is paid to be."

"Yes, that's very true. I've spoken with him," she agrees. "He would literally die for her, if that's what it took to protect her from an attack. He is determined that an incident such as happened three weeks ago never happen again."

"What does Sawyer say about Kate?" I ask curiously.

"He likes her about as much as Christian does," she says. "Gail told me to talk to him because he has spent a lot of time around the two of them. His perspective is interesting. He thinks that Kate is insanely jealous of Ana and the degree to which Christian protects her.

"She doesn't get the same kind of attention from her husband because she is so independent. Ana is naive enough to need a full-time security, but she also is married to a much higher profile man. There is a pretty large risk of kidnapping there."

"Well, anyone kidnapping Kate would quickly find out that it is like the 'ransom of Red Chief,'" I reply. "Kate is pretty darn feisty."

"I witnessed that for myself yesterday," she says. "But we really can't have Kate disrupting the household again like that. Ana couldn't sleep last night because she was still keyed up after we talked. Shonda couldn't convince Christian to go to sleep and let her manage Ana. Today both of them are exhausted. I just came from a session with Ana and she is positively listless. I understand that you are visiting her this afternoon."

"Do you still think that is a good idea?" I ask.

"She is looking forward to it," she says. "She may be tired, but she still likes it when you come and talk to her. She feels very safe confiding in you."

"I'm glad to hear that," I reply. "I have a feeling that my relationship with Kate may be going downhill soon. My husband and I discussed it, and she won't like this, but Carrick is going to talk to her. We are hoping that if he and Elliot present a united front, they can get her to back off. This holiday season is going to be difficult enough without this added layer of tension."

"Yes," she replies. "We will need to discuss that in the future, but I would just like to get past this issue first. Everyone in the family is going to have to be very understanding and accommodating. The biggest challenge is that Shonda will be spending a week with her daughters who will be home from college at her apartment. Since she has not had a break in the past three weeks, she needs the time off, or she may burnout. this is a very intense job for someone as committed as she is. And her daughters need it see her."

"We really need to pull Kate in line," I say, more to myself than her.

"Yes, we do," she says emphatically. "The sooner the better."

When I arrive at the house, I discover that Ana is in bed, although not sleeping. Phoebe is napping in the bassinet, Teddy in his crib. Shonda meets me at the door with Gail. She looks a little worn out herself.

"Shonda," I say. "Why don't you take a nap? I'll keep an eye on Ana for you. I just came from lunch with Charlotte, so there's nothing for you to tell me."

"Thank you, Doctor Grace," she answers gratefully. "I think that I will do that."

I follow her upstairs where it is very quiet. She goes to her room and I go to Ana's room. She is no longer in bed. She has pulled the rocking chair close to Phoebe and is watching the baby sleep, tears rolling down her cheeks. It breaks my heart to see her like this. She looks desolate and forlorn. It's like the spirit has gone right out of her and left nothing more than a shell. She looks up at me when she hears my footstep.

"Did you send Shonda to bed?" she whispers.

"Yes," I reply quietly. "She looked like she needed a break."

Ana stares ahead without seeing anything in front of her.

"Everyone needs a break from me," she says in hushed tones, somewhat ominously. "I am hurting everyone that I love. That's what Kate would have told me. She would have scolded me and made me get up and go shopping or something."

"Would you have listened to her?" I ask, softly. "Do you _really _think that she could have coaxed you out of bed?"

"She wouldn't have coaxed me," she replies with a little smile. "She would have ordered me."

"Would you have gotten up?" I ask. "If so, then I will be happy to order you to get up and go out with me. Or I am sure that Shonda would be happy to scold you until you got up."

"No," she sighs. "Not even for Kate, or you. Shonda has already tried to bully me out of bed. As you can see, it didn't work."

We hear the baby stir, making those sweet, little baby noises that indicate contentment. Ana leans over to touch her cheek.

"So soft," she says.

We sit in silence for several moments.

"What are you thinking of?" I ask her.

She withdraws her hand and places it in her lap with the other. She smooths down the satin robe thoughtfully. Her eyes look like they are a million miles away. It is impossible to discern the nature of her thoughts. Her face is nearly expressionless. Her affect is flat, almost completely apathetic. I wait patiently, hoping that she will give me some clue as to what she is thinking.

"How can I have the most wonderful husband in the world and the two most beautiful children, and still not be happy?" she asks without executing an answer. "I am surrounded by every material possession that I could want and a few that I didn't know that I wanted until Christian gave them to me. My business is highly successful and growing more every day. What am I missing, Grace? What's wrong with me?"

"So you have decided that everything in your life is wonderful and perfect," I say carefully.

"Except me," she replies. "Without me, everyone would be perfectly happy."

"You know that's wrong, Ana," I say firmly. "I can't tell you where this illness came from that has gripped you, but I can tell you that if you weren't here, it would leave a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in all of our lives. All the things that you are talking about are symptoms of your illness. No one blames you. We are all behind you the same way that we would be if you had cancer or some other traumatic illness."

"This isn't the same thing," she says.

"What is so different about it?" I challenge her. "It is completely debilitating. We cannot pinpoint the exact source. The treatment is kind of hit and miss. You and your doctor are frustrated. It is taking a tremendous emotional toll on those around you. Ana, if someone were to only hear the description of the fall out without the diagnosis, it would be just as easy for that person to think that you have something along the lines of cancer."

"But I should have done something to prevent it," she insists. "How did I get so sick for no reason?"

"That is the exact same question that women with breast cancer ask themselves," I reply. "They take the blame on themselves, when really we don't know what might or might not have prevented it. There are so many factors between genetic and environmental that there is no way of narrowing things down to one absolute cause."

"Oh," she says.

"And there is something else that you have in common with, say, a cancer patient," I add.

"What is that?"

"If you give up fighting the battle then you will surely lose," I say firmly. "The mind plays a very important part in the healing process. You concern me lately because sometimes it seems like you are no longer fighting back. If you were a cancer patient on chemo now, you would be very depressed. You would feel nauseous and exhausted and at times the pain would be unbearable. But wouldn't you be fighting for your life?"

"Of course I would," she says. "But that's different."

"In what way?" I ask.

"People who fight against cancer are considered brave and heroic," she says. "People write stories about them in newspapers and magazines. Their friends organize races to support them. Who ever thought of holding a 5k race for a crazy woman?"

"Number one, you're not crazy," I answer stoutly. "Number two, maybe they should. You are right about the difference though. People don't talk about mental illness. They ignore it. Right now, the battle that you are fighting is every bit as difficult as someone trying to survive a brain tumor.

"Of course the difference is that you can try and cut the cancer out of someone's brain. You've got to figure out how to metaphorically cut away the malignant parts of your mind that are eating away at the rest."

"But I might not make it," she says uncertainly.

"No," I agree. "But that's how many people who undergo surgery feel. There is that fear that when you go under for the anesthetic, you might never wake up again."

Ana's face freezes.

"Sometimes," she says hoarsely. "When I go to sleep, I wonder if I will wake up. And then, I'm not always sure that I want to."

"Have you mentioned this to Charlotte?" I ask sharply.

"No," she says. "I just thought of it now, when you were talking."

"When she comes this afternoon," I urge. "You must tell her. And if you don't then I will. Ana, if that is the way that you are thinking, then you are not fighting hard enough."

"Sometimes I don't think that I am fighting at all," she admits. "Sometimes I just drift along, passing time."

Her apathy about her own future suddenly bothers me.

"Ana," I say. "I am now talking as your husband's mother. Do not put him through that kind of hell. Do not destroy the lives of your children. This battle that you are engaged in is entirely winnable, if you give yourself enough time. Whatever else you do, don't give up."

She stares into space again, but I know that she is turning my words over in her mind. I can see that her thinking is slower and that she is struggling to comprehend all of the various aspects of what we are discussing. It's painful to watch because it would appear that the "gears" are moving in slow motion.

"I'll try," she finally says.

I suppose that that is the best that I am going to get out of her for now. I am sorry that Kate's visit has triggered all of the old feelings of inadequacy to resurface. But I guess that it means that they are still present and never went away. I also know that she had been slipping before the crisis had occurred.

At my urging, Ana comes downstairs with me and we sit in the great room together. I notice a copy of the FAO Schwartz catalogue on the coffee table and ask if she's been shopping for Christmas gifts for the children.

"No," she says. "But Christian probably has, for Teddy anyway. Phoebe is too little for toys."

"Does she have a dolly?" I ask.

"No, she's too young," she says.

"Every little girl should have a dolly," I reply. "She's never too young. Let's look and see what we can find in here."

"Just as long as it's not bigger than she is," she sighs.

"Why did you think of that?" I ask curiously.

"Christian always likes to do things in a big way," she answers. "If we are going to get Phoebe a doll, she should at least be able to hold her."

"Look," I say, holding out a page. "Aren't they sweet? This is the newest line of Madame Alexander dolls."

"Don't show that to Christian or he will buy them all," she comments.

I put down the magazine in my lap.

"Why do you keep talking about Christian and his over-the-top consumerism?" I ask.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "I guess it's because I look around at all our stuff and realize that it's not making me happy. I don't want Phoebe and Teddy to get too caught up in acquisition from an early age. Of course, it may be too late for Teddy."

I am not sure of what to make of those remarks. I know that even when she was well would periodically chide Christian for his ability to spend money like a drunken sailor. But she was always indulgent when it came to his over-indulgence since she knew that it came from an early life of deprivation. Then I notice that she is looking over the dolls.

"I like this one," she says, pointing to a red-haired doll. "She reminds me of Phoebe with her copper-colored hair and big blue eyes. The little blue dress is very cute. And it's not too frilly."

"Yes," I say. "I like that one too. Look at her name, Alessandra."

"What a pretty name!" she says. "Can we get that one?"

"Of course," I reply, pleased that she has finally taken an interest in something. "Why don't we go to the website and order it?"

"I'd like that," she says. "But I don't want it gift wrapped."

"Why not?"

"The least I can do is wrap my daughter's Christmas," she says. "I like wrapping presents. Christian always pays for the most expensive wrapping option."

"Then we won't get it gift wrapped," I agree. "And when it comes you can find the perfect paper."

As we walk over to her office, I can't help but feel that I have scored a small victory. I got her out of her bedroom. She has stopped crying. And now she is buying a Christmas present for her baby girl. It may be precious little progress, but it is progress nonetheless.


	17. Hope

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: I know that some of you don't agree with my characterization of Kate, but hang in there with me. I need to have some kind of "heavy" in the plot to demonstrate some of the misconceptions of the illness. And I did bump off Elena in an earlier story. Okay, I admit it. I have never really liked Kate.**

**Also, a couple of people have expressed concern about Shonda and her relationship with Teddy. Calling Teddy "little man" is not intended to confer expectations of adult behavior on him. It is a teasing expression that I have often used affectionately with boys that I teach when they try to act bigger than they are.**

**The name "Auntie Shonda" rather than "Nurse Shonda" is used to imply that she is like a relative helping out with his mother, rather than a medical professional treating a very sick person. It is very hard to maintain a household when someone who is as sick as Ana is living there. This is a part of the illusion of things not being so bad that is used to explain Shonda's presence.**

**In fact, if Christian did not have the financial resources that he does, someone as sick as Ana would probably be hospitalized in the psych ward. Christian would be trying to manage the children without the benefit of a large staff and balance that with trying to visit his wife in the hospital. **

**As anguishing as this story is, it is much worse for the 99% of the population who have to rely on health insurance (or not in many cases) and the help of friends and family to keep the house going, especially if the illness of the patient resulted in lost income to the family. To a family such as that, "a Shonda," complete with all of her idiosyncrasies, would be a blessing.**

**Chapter 15: Hope**

When I return home the day after Kate's fateful visit, I find Ana sitting in the living room with Mother. There is a little color in her cheeks and it looks as though they have been drinking tea. She is nursing Phoebe and I can hear Teddy in the playroom making his usual racket. His high-pitched squeals indicate that something has pleased him. They are followed by Sophie's quiet voice gently urging him to calm down.

"Good evening, beautiful," I say, as I kiss Ana on the head.

Then I turn to Mother, who gives me one of her soft smiles.

"Hello, Mother," I say, as we touch cheeks. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"No," she replies. "I am meeting your father downtown for some lawyers' dinner. It's already starting, you know, all the holiday affairs. It feels like there are more of them every year."

"Yes," he says. "You would never know how many people are going without food in this recession. Every time that I go to one of these affairs, I feel guilty."

"Have you written our check yet to the state food bank?" asks Ana. "Maybe you should increase the amount."

I stare at her in amazement. I cannot believe that she is actually noticing something going on beyond the walls of the house. I look at Mother, who gives me a little smile. Ana doesn't notice because she is looking at the baby. Suddenly Teddy comes running in at hurls himself at me, grabbing my knees.

"Twains, Daddy?" he asks hopefully.

"Maybe later, son," I reply.

"You should play with him after Charlotte comes," says Ana. "And give Sophie a break."

Sophie, who followed Teddy out of the playroom, is standing quietly off to the side. She smiles shyly at me, but I turn my attention back to Ana.

"Do you need anything, Ana?" I ask.

"Could you call Gail for me?" she asks. "Charlotte will be here soon."

"Of, course," I reply, unsure of what this change in mood might mean.

We've seen these little rays of light before. Unfortunately, they always end in disappointment. Ana seems to rally for a while, and then slips back into her old malaise. Charlotte says that this is normal, but I still wonder. I just wish that we could maintain these lucid moments for a little longer. Then the doorbell chimes and Mother gets up to leave.

"That will be Charlotte," she says. "I will go now. Goodbye, Ana. Try to have a good night's sleep."

"Thank you, Grace," replies Ana seriously. "I will do my best."

Gail walks in with Charlotte.

"Hello, Ana," she says. "I can see that you have had a visitor. How are you, Grace?"

"I'm good," she says. "But I must be on my way or Carrick will be annoyed."

"Say hello to Carrick for me," says Ana suddenly, since she was actually paying attention to the exchange.

I put my arm around my mother and walk to the door with her.

"Please tell me that I am awake and I didn't just dream that whole scene," I say quietly.

"No, it was all real," she says. "But Christian, please don't get your hopes up too high. It will only put more pressure on Ana if she thinks that everyone believes that she is cured. I have warned you before that the trajectory for recovery is not a steady upward trend."

"I know, I know," I reply. "But a man can live in hope, can't he?"

She looks at me thoughtfully and says, "Better hope than despair, but just be sure to temper it with reality."

She then turns and walks out into the cool evening under the clear, dark sky. I go back into the house and return to the living room. Ana has already left with Charlotte for their session. Gail is now holding the baby. It looks like she is playing "This Little Piggy" with her toes."

"May I?" I ask holding out my arms as I sit down.

"Certainly, sir," replies Gail. "Okay, Phoebe. Time to go to Daddy."

Phoebe looks up at me, and smiles. She reaches up for my tie and gives it a little tug. It's a new game with her to grab at things. I find just holding her soothes me. Teddy must have grown tired of waiting for me because he has disappeared back into the playroom. In a few minutes, or maybe a half an hour, he will remember that he wanted to play trains with me. Until then, I will savor my time with my little girl.

Elliot and I have been comparing notes on having a daughter. While every man wants a son to carry on his name, there is definitely something special about having a little princess to adore you. I love Teddy and I am glad that he is my older child. For all the fuss I made when Ana first found out that she was pregnant with him, I can't imagine my life without him.

But Phoebe is something else. Once Elliot asked me if I ever regretted having Phoebe so soon after Teddy, especially considering Ana's recent struggles. But I could never blame Phoebe for Ana's illness. In fact, sometimes I think that if it wasn't for Phoebe that Ana would never get out of bed. And Shonda and Charlotte are certainly right about those nursing hormones or whatever they are. Ana always does seem calmer and a bit more at ease when she and Phoebe are nursing.

Of course, that may also be Phoebe. Teddy was strong-willed and determined from the day he was born. Phoebe is a calmer, gentler little person. Ana, when she was well, would frequently share her daydreams of the children with me. I have recently been having one of my own.

Ana and I are standing arm in arm at the edge of the meadow. Two little figures, Teddy, about age four, and Phoebe, about age two, are walking towards us hand in hand. Teddy is pointing out things and explaining them to her, while she looks up at him seriously.

Then they notice us and run towards us, laughing and giggling. Teddy hurls himself at me and I swing him high in the air. Ana bends down as little Phoebe runs into her arms. Phoebe then reaches down to pat Ana's wide belly and says, "Baby."

I asked Flynn about it recently, thinking that maybe I was crazy. After all of this anguish, why would I even dream of having another child? How could I even think of doing that to my poor Ana?

"Absolutely not, Christian," he replied. "It is an indication of the enormous strides that you are making in your own recovery. Let me break it down for you. In the past, during times of great stress, most recently in the early months of your relationship with Ana, you were haunted by powerful, disturbing nightmares of your past. This is an entirely different thing."

"Go on," I said, as he stops for a moment to let this all sink in.

"The stress that you are under now, is just as great, if not greater, than what you were feeling then," he continued. "In spite of that, are you having nightmares?"

"No," I replied, thoroughly engaged.

"Exactly," he said. "You are having daydreams of a very positive future outlook. You are unconsciously using SFBT to deal with your anxieties. The dream that you are having is an indication that at least subconsciously, you believe that Ana will recover and you will regain your happy family life. It is not a bad thing that you imagine that you will have more children."

"But, why would I want to put her through this again?" I asked.

"There is nothing to say that you would be," he replied. "In fact, you even know that. I am sure that your exhaustive research into the topic of postpartum depression has revealed that just because it happened once, does not mean that it will happen again. You know that. Ana has always wanted lots of children. She is still very young. But talk to Charlotte Tyler about it, if it concerns you, I am sure that she will tell you the same thing."

"She has," I admitted.

"So you have discussed this with her?" he asked.

"Yes, well," I answered, feeling a little uncomfortable. "After one of Ana's more painful bouts of weeping, I suggested that maybe I should get a vasectomy so that this would never happen again."

"Really?" he said in surprise, lifting his eyebrows. "What did she say?"

"She told me that it was very permanent and drastic action that I should never take without consulting with Ana first," I explained. "And then she told me that every pregnancy is different and there is no reason to presume that this would happen again. Especially if they could root out Ana's underlying issues at this time and deal with them."

"Yes," he said. "That is something that I didn't have to work through with you. By the time you saw me, you could articulate all the things that had made you who you were by chapter and verse. Because all that legwork had been done already, I could start with strategies for helping you move on."

Suddenly, a little bundle of energy comes running out of the playroom. He leaps up and then plants himself in front of me.

"Twains?" he asks again, this time more forcefully.

I don't answer immediately because I don't want to put the baby down. Teddy, sharp little thing that he is, notices my dilemma.

"Fee-bee too," he says. "Come, Daddy. Come, Fee-bee. Play twains wit me."

Phoebe responds immediately to the sound of her name. She looks into his eager little face and smiles. I think that if _she _could talk, then she would say, "Twains," too. Teddy reaches his finger out to grab and giggles when she does. I am suddenly transported back to my own childhood.

Mother and Dad had just come home with baby Mia. Elliot was stomping around, making as much noise as he could to express his displeasure. I still couldn't speak at that point and was hanging back. I wasn't exactly sure of what all of this meant for me, but if Elliot was unhappy, then perhaps I should be too. After all, "Lelliot" knew everything.

I saw the big, pale pink bundle in Mother's arms. She and Dad were looking in and smiling. I thought that if it was something that made them so happy, then maybe it was worth a look. Mother saw me slowly moving forward towards her and leaned towards me.

"Christian," she said softly. "Come and meet Baby Mia."

I approached slowly as I tested the word Mia in my head. It was a pretty word. I had never heard that word before. It was new. I looked into the bundle and saw this pretty pink and white face, with big, brown eyes, surrounded by a mass of jet, black curls. I thought that I had never seen anything so beautiful except for my New Mommy. She looked back at me and smiled. Then Mother spoke.

"Gently give her your finger, Christian, and see what she does. Is your finger clean?"

I looked at both my hands carefully. But my hands were always clean. Elliot was the one whose hands were always dirty. Looking back at Baby Mia, I tentatively put my finger out. There was nothing hesitant about her gesture. She grabbed and then gripped my finger tightly. Then she smiled and kind of gurgled at me.

"Mia."

"What was that?" asked Dad in a stunned voice.

"I think that was Christian," answered Mother in amazement. "Honey, did you just say something?"

But I wasn't paying any attention to them. Mia was still gripping my index finger and smiling at me. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was such a sweet, delicate little thing. She was a baby. She was our baby. She was going to live with us forever. I knew that because all the children who came to live in our house stayed forever. I looked into her big brown eyes again.

"Mia," I repeated.

"Good job, son," said Dad, as he patted me on the head.

I was confused. What had I done? Why was my New Mommy crying? Did I do something bad? Did I hurt Baby Mia? I quickly snatch my hand back. But then Mia didn't like that. She gave a little squawk of displeasure and reached out her little hand into the air, opening and closing her little fist as if she was looking for something.

"It's okay," said Dad quietly. "There's nothing wrong, Christian. You can give her back your finger."

I looked up into his face and he smiled encouragingly. So I reached out towards the little fist and she immediately grabbed my finger back. She smiled triumphantly and then looked a little mischievous. Quick as lightening, she pulled my finger towards her mouth and bit me.

I immediately snatched my hand back and put both hands behind my back.

"Little devil," said Mother affectionately. "It's okay, Christian. She's just showing you that she was annoyed because you took your finger away in the first place."

I was puzzled. If she wanted my finger back so badly, then why would she bite it? Did she was think that I was stupid enough to give it back to her now? But there she was, reaching and clutching at the air.

"Elliot, come over here and meet your new sister," said Dad.

Elliot came stomping over and stood at a safe distance from the baby. For some reason, I felt the need to point her out to him.

"Mia," I said, unnecessarily.

"Yeah, right," he said. "Mia. At least you know how to say one word, kid."

Whenever Elliot was annoyed at me, he would call me "kid," as if I didn't deserve to be addressed by name. Now he was looking at Baby Mia with distaste. She looked back at him uncertainly, but nonetheless reached out her hand.

"No way," Elliot said forcefully. "You're not gonna bite _my _finger."

But I could tell that he was still fascinated. How could you not be fascinated by such an intriguing creature? Mia was looking up at him seriously and finally broke out into one of her dazzling smiles. Elliot couldn't help himself. He smiled back. Then he made a funny face at her and she laughed. In a few days, I couldn't remember that Baby Mia hadn't always lived with us.

I am glad that Teddy's response to Phoebe had been the same as mine was to Mia. I think that this was mostly Ana's doing. It had always bothered her that she was an only child, which was why she had wanted a large family. While Teddy had been unplanned, Phoebe had been carefully planned for. She didn't want to wait long enough for Teddy to become used to being an only child.

And she had decided that as long as she had started young, she wanted to have all of her children young. Then she could focus more on her career. So we had set up everything perfectly so that she would be able to run Grey Publishing either from home or with varying degrees of proximity. Little had we known that she would lose interest completely.

Coming back to the here and now, Teddy is becoming impatient. Standing up, I follow him into the playroom. He immediately goes over to a corner and picks up Phoebe's doughnut and places it on the floor by the train tracks.

"Fee-bee," he says authoritatively.

Smiling to myself, I put Phoebe in her spot and sit down cross-legged beside. Then Teddy is setting up the trains at the station, explaining everything as he does it. It takes me a minute to realize that he isn't actually talking to me, but rather to the baby. She, in turn, is watching him seriously and appears to be following his monologue.

As I listen along, I suddenly notice that he is repeating, almost verbatim, some of the explanations that I have given him on train set up, albeit with his own limited vocabulary. His already impressive knowledge makes me think that I may have to consider some investments in railroads for the future.

Since Teddy isn't paying much attention to me, I allow my mind to wander again. I think back to Mia's first Christmas. She was barely more than one, but very strong for her age. In fact, she was so strong that she was able to sit beside me on the bench while I plinked out "Jingle Bells" and "Silent Night" on the piano. Of course, Mother was worried that she would fall, so she stood behind her bracing her back.

A couple of times, she tried to pull Mia away, but this always resulted in a very fierce, "No!" from Mia. In fact, Mia's first word was "No." From a very young age, she was determined to exert her will over the entire family. So now if Mia wanted to sit with me while I played the piano, she got to. However, when I decided that I was tired and wanted to quit, I became the object of her displeasure.

"No!" she said firmly as I climbed off the bench.

I breathed a sigh, and looked pleadingly at Mother.

"I think that Christian needs a break, Mia dear," she said. "Why don't we do something else?"

She attempted to lift her off the bench, but Mia grabbed it with her little hands and said in a louder voice, "No!"

"Maybe Mommy could play for you?" she suggested.

"No!"

Then Elliot, who has been watching this exchange from a place in the corner of the room where he had been building some enormous building complex with his Legos, came over and said, "Stop being such a baby, Mia!"

"No!"

Elliot was amused by that response.

"But you are such a baby!"

"No!"

"And you want Christian to play the piano again?" he asked at high speed.

"No!"

"Gotcha!" he shouted in delight. "Problem solved, Mother."

He walked back to his building while Mother and I stared at him. Mia looked puzzled, as if she was not sure of exactly what happened. Suddenly Mother wrinkled her nose. I sniffed the air and reacted instinctively by holding my nose and saying, "Pee-yew."

Mother laughed. Although I had been saying a few more things since Mia came, my vocabulary was still pretty limited. I had picked up that expression from Elliot, who was very vocal whenever Mia's diaper began to reek. Now Mother swung Mia over her shoulder and took her away to change her. I walked over to sit and watch Elliot build. He briefly looked up at me.

"What?" he asked.

"Poopy diaper," I replied, once again demonstrating the nature of my limited vocabulary. "Whatcha build?"

"I'm not sure yet," he answered. "It's either a shopping mall or an industrial complex."

Back then I was in awe of Elliot's use of big words that I didn't entirely understand. As I look at Phoebe's face now, I can see that she is just as impressed with _her _older brother's knowledge. When he completes his preparations, he turns with a flourish and says, "All aboard."

This is Phoebe's cue to clap her hands and she never disappoints. I shake my head in wonder. I obviously have the two most brilliant children that ever lived. Teddy flips the switch and the train begins to circle the track. This is an impressive feat in and of itself. Although the engines have been fixed to run on solar power, at night, he has to flip a switch so that the batteries will kick in. He has already figured this out and never makes a mistake.

After the stress of the last twenty-four hours, it is a relief to simply sit and enjoy the children, who are now both mesmerized by the little engine towing its cargo up and down the track and through the various tunnels and bridges that I have set up for it. I have to admit that it does have a hypnotic quality and as I relax, I realize how tired I am.

After several minutes or maybe more, Ana and Charlotte walk in.

"I'll sit with the children now," says Ana. "Charlotte would like to speak with you."

I reluctantly get up as Ana takes my place on the floor beside Phoebe. The baby looks up and smiles at her, but Teddy is so engrossed in his trains that he doesn't even notice the change of parents. Charlotte and I walk over to my office and close the door.

"Is it my imagination or is she really better?" I ask hopefully.

"Her mood is elevated at the moment," she replies. "But that is probably not a permanent thing. She had an excellent talk with your mother earlier. Grace told her that she should view her illness in the same light as one would view cancer and even went through a list of parallels between the two. It was a useful exercise for her. Ana and I have talked about it before, but this time she really seemed to get the message. She even said something that was particularly heartening."

"What was that?" I ask.

"She said that when she gets better, she is going to found a non-profit organization to raise awareness of mental health and funds for research and treatment of patients who can't afford it," she replies.

"Well," I say. "It doesn't surprise me that she would think of that. She is always putting others before herself."

She shakes her head.

"No, Christian," she says. "You are missing the most important thing. She said, 'when I get better.' Do you realize what this means?"

I still feel so tired that I am having trouble understanding what she is getting at. What did I miss?

"It means," she continues when she realizes that I am stumped. "That Ana thinks that she will get better. This is the first indication that we have had that she is looking forward to a time when she overcomes her illness."

"Then why are you so skittish about declaring a victory of sorts?" I ask.

"It will not take much to throw her back into her former malaise," she says. "In fact she could wake up tomorrow and still not feel this well. Ana has taken the step of looking into the future, but I should remind you that she has things in the past that she has not yet confronted."

"But maybe she doesn't have anything in the past to confront," I suggest.

"I doubt it," she replies. "Now certainly there are hormonal issues here and there may even be genetic issues. It would be interesting to know if her mother experienced any kind of baby blues."

"Have you asked Ana?"

"She doesn't know," she says. "However she did tell me that she sometimes feels like she ruined her mother's life. As you know, her mother married her father because she was pregnant. Since then she has had three husbands. She feels that she married Ray so she would have someone to help raise her. Then she married Steve to get away from Ray. And when that didn't work, for whatever reason, she divorced him and married her present, older, husband who takes care of her. But you probably knew that already."

"Which is why you mentioned it," I comment. "Yes, I knew all that, but it is the first time that I have heard her mother's marital history conceptualized like that."

"Now the last possibility for an origin of her illness is environmental," she says. "Those feelings that I just described fall into that category. In addition to those, she may have other past experiences that may have made their contribution as well. But the likeliest possibility is that the origin of the illness is some combination of those three factors."

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

"I will be speaking with Shonda before I leave," she answers. "But I think that we should follow Ana's lead for as long as she is on this upswing. If she starts to slide back then we can readjust."

"How long do you think that this will continue?" I ask.

"I don't know," she replies. "But to use your mother's metaphor, when cancer goes into spontaneous remission, as this seems to have, the doctors can never be sure when it will return, at what strength, and with what result."

"So there is hope?" I ask.

"There has always been hope," she says. "It's been hard to see these last few weeks, but it has always been there. By the way, I spoke with her about you and Teddy having a 'boys day out,' so to speak. She agrees that it would be a good thing. I would suggest doing it as quickly as possible before her mood regresses. In fact, if you could do it tomorrow, that would be ideal."

"I can reorganize my schedule," I say eagerly. "What will she do while we are gone?"

"We discussed that," she replies. "She is going to invite Grace over and Jose and Maritza. She wants him to take some three generation pictures of Grace, herself, and Phoebe. She really enjoyed herself the other night when they came over. She especially likes Maritza because she says that she treats her as if she were normal."

"Normal?"

"Well, it may be because Maritza is not as emotionally entangled as the rest of you," she says. "Or maybe it's just her vivacious personality, but Ana feels like she isn't walking on eggs when she's around."

"If that's the case," I say, thinking aloud. "Maybe I should invite Ros and Gwen over."

"I know that Ros is your second-in-command," she says. "But who is Gwen?"

"Gwen is Ros's partner," I say. "Come to think of it, Ana has always thought of her as bubbly. In that way, Gwen and Maritza are very similar."

"You don't think that Ros would react with the eggshell approach?" she asks.

"That's not Ros's style," I say with a grin. "It's not like Ros is unfeeling, it's just that she tends to call things like she sees them. She's kind of like Shonda without the attitude."

"What you saying about Shonda's attitude?" says a voice from the doorway.

"Don't you ever knock?" I ask with a sigh.

"Mrs. Gail told me that Dr. Charlotte wanted to talk to me before she left," she answers. "I just wanted to make sure that I didn't miss her."

"Don't worry about it, Christian," says Charlotte. "Anything that we discuss about Ana is something that Shonda needs to know. Besides, it must be almost dinnertime. I don't want to hold you up."

"You can stay if you like," I offer.

"No," she says. "I am in the middle of some research that I would like to get back to. I'll say my piece to Shonda and then leave. You can tell Ana that I will be back tomorrow morning."

"Okay," I reply. "Have a good night."

"You too," she says, as she leaves with Shonda.

Before returning to Ana and the kids, I take a few minutes to process everything that I have just heard. I wonder if I can convince Ana to allow me to invite Ros and Gwen over for dinner. It would be a relief to see her widening her social circle a little more. And I am glad that Jose and Maritza are coming back. Maybe if Ana can become accustomed to these "easier personalities" in the house, she will be willing to accept Carla and Ray.

It would be a shame for those grandparents to miss Christmas with their only grandchildren. I understand Ana's reluctance to see them, but I wish that her perceptions would shift so that they were a little closer to reality. There is no reason to believe that if Mother explained everything to them, that they wouldn't give Ana the support that she needs.

But I am probably just getting ahead of myself. There is no telling how long this "remission" will last or even what might trigger a relapse. For now, I am just going to have to let go of these kinds of thoughts and hope that the present trend continues. Yes, Charlotte really nailed that one on the head. We've all got to have hope.


	18. Another Intervention

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 16: Intervention**

Kate, Elliot, and Ava are coming over for dinner tonight. I only hope that it will not turn into a disaster. Mia is going out with Ethan, so I won't have to worry about her throwing in her two cents. Carrick had recommended a "cooling off period" before we saw Kate again.

He didn't want me to say or do anything that I might regret later. After all, in addition to being Elliot's wife, she is the mother of one of our grandchildren and hopefully more, later on. In our rush to protect Ana, we do not want to alienate Kate in the process. Elliot was able to convince her to stay away from Ana prior to this recent episode, so it was unnecessary to make this intervention before now.

However, the situation is causing stress within the family. It will never do for us to allow things to fester in this manner where some members of the family aren't speaking with others. Mia has decided to take Ana's side, virtuously citing her own ability to maintain her distance. But Ethan is hardly able to talk to his sister without a barrage of questions and Elliot is just plain stuck in the middle. While I wait fir them to arrive, I contemplate the last few days.

I spoke to Christian earlier today and Ana's positive mood continues. I continuously remind him that he shouldn't count his chickens before they are hatched. When Ana backslides, his disappointment will add one more justification to her self-loathing. But it is hard when her rebound is so strong.

Ros and Gwen came over for dinner last night and it was very successful. Ana has always liked the both of them and was very amenable to their visit when Christian suggested it. Gwen got rather dewy-eyed over Phoebe to which Ros responded with a very definite "No."

Then Gwen batted her eyelashes at Christian.

"Sure you wouldn't be interested in being the donor?"

"No!" Christian and Ros said as one voice.

Even Ana found the exchange amusing. Later, however, she told Christian that such a thing was not even up for debate. If Teddy and Phoebe were going to have any more siblings, _she _would be their mother. She was so emphatic about it that he grabbed her and kissed her soundly. To his surprise, she responded with something like ardor. It was the first time in a long time.

But that wasn't the only humorous moment of the evening. Teddy asked Auntie Ros to please buy him a real railroad to run when she sat watching his trains racing around the track. Christian said that it was a very funny exchange.

"What makes you think that I can buy you a real railroad?" she asked.

"You buy Daddy stuff for wunning," he says.

"I use your Daddy's money," she said. "He's my boss."

"Use Daddy money," he replied sanguinely. "Daddy got lots."

"That's up to Daddy," she said. "He tells me what to buy."

Teddy thought about that for a minute.

"Daddy," he said with absolute sincerity. "Tell Auntie Wos buy me wailwoad."

He was very puzzled when everyone laughed, but then he started to laugh himself. Of course he had no idea of what was so funny. Apparently, the whole evening was like that, little light-hearted moments that Ana responded to well.

Then I think back to my own afternoon with Jose and Maritza at Ana's. I had to switch shifts with someone, but I was glad that I did. Maritza wanted to talk to me. She was feeling very guilty because she thought that she was the cause of the recent uproar with Kate.

"Dr. Trevelyan," she said anxiously. "I am so sorry for all the trouble I caused. I had no idea that Kate wasn't allowed to see Ana, or that it would cause her to react the way that she did when I mentioned that we had been there."

"Don't worry about it, honey," I said. "This situation can be very confusing at times. We all know that you didn't do it on purpose. I'm just happy that Ana is comfortable with having you come to visit. She needs to see more people."

"I don't know why she likes seeing me," she answered furrowing her brow. "It's not like we're best friends or anything."

"Actually, I think that's why she does like seeing you," I replied. "You don't try to have those kind of deep, intense conversations that a best friend would. I know that she is also grateful to you for making Jose so very happy. Right now, the nature of her illness is such that she feels guilty for a lot of the ways that she _thinks _that she has made others unhappy in the past. Seeing Jose head over heels in love with you gives her one less thing to feel guilty about."

"So then maybe I am helping her?" she asked hopefully.

"I am sure that you are helping her," I replied smiling. "Now why don't we both go and help cheer her up?"

Maritza smiled as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Poor girl. It's not surprising that she would feel responsible for Kate's tantrum. Then I saw her return to where Ana and Jose were talking and immediately reach her hands out for the baby.

I could tell by the look on her face that she was looking forward to having babies of her own. And the look on Jose's face showed that he was looking forward to the same thing. Ana seemed to be looking on at the two of them with a degree of satisfaction. Yes, seeing Jose so happy was doing her a world of good.

After lunch, Jose took the pictures that Ana wanted. Phoebe went down for her nap and Jose and Maritza filled us in on the wedding plans. Although Maritza's family is far from wealthy, they still plan to have a large, Mexican tradition style wedding, including a mariachi band circulating through the guests.

Ana listened to them with a bittersweet look on her face. I was sure that she was wondering if she would be well enough to go. The afternoon passed quickly and before we knew it, Christian and Teddy returned home. Whatever they had been dong must have tired out Ted, because Christian had to carry him in. He put him down to finish his nap and returned to us with Phoebe. The minute that she saw Ana, she reached out.

"I believe that someone is hungry," commented Christian.

"Was she crying and I didn't hear her?" asked Ana, worriedly. "Maybe the baby monitor is working properly."

"No," he said. "I heard her prattling to herself. I think that she had just woken up. And she certainly is hungry."

The baby was nursing eagerly. I knew that she would probably not be nursing much longer. She had taken to solid food and was even drinking a little juice.

"Where did you go?" Ana asked Christian.

"I took him over to the local skating rink and put him in his first pair of ice skates," he said. "They have these plastic boxes, kind of like milk crates, that toddlers can push around to glide. The toddler skates have double blades and he had excellent balance so he isn't fall once."

Ana shivered at the thought.

"You could put me on triple blades and give me a walker to push around and I would probably still break something," she stated. "You know what a klutz I am."

"I don't think that I am really a klutz," commented Maritza. "But I don't like skating. When you fall the ice it's very cold. Brrr!"

"I would never let you fall, baby," said Jose.

"Neither would I, Ana," said Christian. "If you wanted to try."

Ana had just shaken her head doubtfully. Clearly there was no way that anyone was going to convince her to put on a pair of ice skates.

When the bell rings, my reverie is broken as I return to here and now. Carrick answers it. I go back in the kitchen to help Gretchen put the finishing touches on the meal. I hear the voices in the hall and then moving into the living room. Suddenly, I am caught up in a huge bear hug.

"Mom!" says Elliot. "Long time, no see!"

It feels that way, but it's actually been about two weeks. He grabs a piece of shrimp off the platter of hors d'oeurves, as I slap his hand.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and bring these into the living room?" I say.

"Sure," he says affably. "But first I want to talk to you alone."

"What is it now?" I ask with a sigh.

"Kate feels really bad about all the trouble that she caused," he says. "I don't think that she realized how very sick Ana really is. She just thought that Christian was playing his old control freak games."

"Well, didn't Shonda and Charlotte convince her?" I ask, feeling very annoyed all over again. "She didn't have to heap abuse on Sawyer all the way down the driveway. The poor man was just doing his job. He's been through hell since that night with Ana. Even though he saved her, he still blames himself that she managed to get herself into the water in the first place."

"She realizes that now . . . I think" he says. "Ana's doctor came over the other day to explain it all to her. She finally made her realize that what is happening with Ana now has nothing to do with her relationship with Christian, or probably her friendship with her.

"Ana's fear of her revolves around the fact that Kate has been scolding her ever since Phoebe was born about not picking up her career. Kate really thought that Ana's problem was that Christian was forcing her to become a stay-at-home mom. But nothing could be farther from the truth."

"I believe that Ana told her that on any number of occasions," I reply. "Why wouldn't she believe her?"

"She thought that Ana was still afraid of Christian," he says uncomfortably.

"Oh?" I say. "What does she think now?"

He hesitates.

"Well," he finally says. "I think that she finally realizes that Christian isn't calling the shots on this. But you know how stubborn she is. She refuses to accept that Ana's problems can't be solved by getting her out of the house and back to work."

"Is your wife really an investigative journalist?" I ask him sarcastically. "There's a ton of information out there about postpartum depression on the Internet alone."

"And I think that she's read it all," he says defensively. "She just wants to help her best friend. She may be a little misguided, but she really thinks that she can help her."

"Well, if you want to help _her_," I say. "Then we better get into the living room before your father gives her a piece of his mind."

When we reach the living room, Carrick is bouncing a delighted Ava on is knee. Kate is studiously ignoring him by pretending to read a magazine. I know that she is pretending, because it is one of my medical equipment catalogues. I suppress a laugh and greet her pleasantly. She rises to the occasion by politely answering me. This could be a long evening.

The conversation both before and during dinner is awkward. With Ava present and very alert, no one wants to have any disagreements. Luckily, Elliot fills the uncomfortable silence, first by giving us a blow-by-blow description of Ava's latest progress and then, a detailed account of his latest building project. His good-natured rambling keeps the tone light and Carrick and I ask lots of questions to keep him going. Kate appears to be sulking, but it is hard to tell.

I try to draw her out with questions about the baby, but her answers are monosyllabic. After a while, I am starting to get annoyed. Before we can go into the living room for coffee and dessert, Ava falls asleep in her booster seat and Kate takes her upstairs to lay her down in the crib that we have placed in one of the guest rooms for that purpose. She is a long time in coming down, but finally she rejoins us.

"Okay," she says as she sits down heavily beside Elliot. "Time for the inquisition."

Carrick and I exchange a look. We do not want this to be a contentious conversation, but Kate seems determined to make it so.

"Kate," he says. "We know that you view Ana as your best friend and feel that this gives you some proprietary rights, but the fact is that you and Ana are both family members now. That changes the dynamic somewhat."

She rolls her eyes.

"Just because we are sisters-in-law doesn't mean that we can't be best friends too," she says sulkily.

"No one is saying that," he replies. "But Ana has a serious illness. An expert doctor is treating her. And a highly professional nurse is caring for her. This nurse was handpicked by Flynn and Grace has attested to her excellent qualities as a psychiatric nurse. In fact, we are lucky that she was willing to take time off from her duties at the hospital to take this job. It's not an easy one and we need to give the respect that she deserves."

"I'm sure that Christian is making it worth her while," she says sarcastically. "And the expert doctor's too. Did it ever occur to you that they have a stake in keeping Ana sick?"

"For everyone's sake I will pretend that you didn't just say that," I reply, doing my best to control my temper. "I'm sure that you have researched Charlotte Tyler and know that she is not only an expert in the field, her integrity is beyond reproach. And Shonda has given up working shifts where she can go home and sleep after ten hours on duty, for what is essentially an around the clock nursing job. Both of these women have sacrificed their personal lives to care for Ana. I refuse to let you insult them any further in my home."

"Then why won't they let me see her?" she asks. "I don't believe that Ana really doesn't want to see me. Have they convinced her that this is all my fault?"

"They haven't assigned blame to anyone or anything as far as I know," says Carrick. "Ana has this, perhaps not so misguided, idea that you will scold her for becoming ill. This may be completely irrational, but _that _kind of thinking is a symptom of her illness. And you can't say that you haven't scolded her before when her behavior didn't come up to your standards."

She turns and looks at Elliot.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything in my defense?" she asks him petulantly.

He opens his mouth and then closes it. He has tried to smooth the waters already, but Kate has not lived up to his assurances so far. Carrick decides to try again.

"Kate, this isn't about you," he says. "This is about family and all of us pulling together to try and help Christian, Ana, and the children through this. They are all going through hell right now. Why can't you see this? She won't see Mia or Elliot either, or even her own parents."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Family, hmm," she replies. "This is about the fact that I kept _my _family name when Elliot and I got married, isn't it?"

Now Carrick rolls his eyes. Kate looks furiously at her husband.

"Aren't you going to say anything in my defense, you big lug?" she asks Elliot, as she smacks his arm.

"I think that you're doing very well for yourself, dear," he says wryly.

With a "humph," Kate crosses her arms defensively and moves slightly away from him on the couch.

"Kate," says Carrick reasonably. "I have never thought any less of you for keeping your name. Grace kept her own name pretty much for the same reasons that you did. She had already established a reputation for herself under the name Trevelyan, which is a fairly unique and memorable name. We honored that choice by giving all three children Trevelyan as a second name, not that any of them use it.

"You come from a family well-established in the media business. We respect the fact that you would want to trade on that name in your career. It makes perfect sense and we don't think any less of you than Ana, who took Christian's name."

"Not that he would have let her keep her own name even if it was Simon or Shuster," she says sarcastically.

Ignoring her remark, Carrick continues.

"Ana had no name to trade on," he continues. "Professionally, it has been somewhat helpful for her to use the name Grey for her company. Having said that, the success of Grey Publishing in this age of constantly changing norms in publishing, is mainly due to her own hard work and creativity."

"And I suppose that I am just getting by on the name Kavanagh?" she asks.

"Hardly," he replies. "It may have opened the door for you a few times, but if you weren't a talented journalist in your own right, you would not have come so far so fast. But that also leads into my point about Ana taking some time off to raise her children."

"Oh really?" she asks so impertinently that I want to smack her myself.

"Ana is in a position where she can step back from her company and it won't lose ground," he explains. "Christian set things up that way to give her that option while she was still pregnant with Phoebe. Considering how things have worked, I would say that it's a good thing that he was so farsighted. But Ana's depression was not caused by her staying at home for so long. And it wasn't caused by any one person. In fact, Dr. Tyler is still working on the cause or, most likely, causes."

Suddenly, Kate looks deflated. It is as if she has not been able to accept this up to this point.

"With regards to your career, well I would imagine that you have to keep working in order to maintain it," he says. "You need to keep those bylines coming out and that is not something that you can delegate or outsource. It's a "publish or perish" world out there and we know that you are making sacrifices to keep your career moving forward. We all admire you for your determination and tenacity, but not when it comes to family."

Kate is silent for a moment.

"I just want to help," she says. "I feel so helpless."

"So do we all," I reply. "And no one more so than Christian. This is one of those times when all the money in the world cannot solve her problems. It can buy her the best medical treatment, but even that is of limited value."

"But if she won't see me, then what can I do?" she asks sadly.

"I have actually thought about that," I reply. "When Ana and I were talking the other day, I drew some parallels between her battle with depression and the battle of say, a cancer patient. And she's right about one thing. No one views it as the same thing. That's because there is a certain amount of shame that patients feel. The public seems to view cancer patients as somehow noble. Mentally ill patients are viewed negatively, usually without respect.

"If you want to do Ana and others like her a real service, you will use your journalistic talent to create public awareness of the true nature of depression. One of the greatest fears of the security staff is that word will get out that Ana is a victim of postpartum. The media frenzy that will follow could easily put Ana over the edge.

"This is what we are trying to protect her from and why it appears that she is hidden away. Fortunately, the press has been satisfied that she has stepped back to raise her children and that she and Christian are determined to shield the children from the paparazzi. So far they have respected this."

"Yes," she says thoughtfully. "The Obamas really set the standard for the privacy of children of high profile people by strictly controlling media access. I can see that this is a very good strategy for keeping Ana safe as well."

"So, Kate," I finally ask. "Do we have you on board? Can you put aside your personal feelings and help us to get Ana well again? She needs all the support that she can get. I guarantee that even if she won't see you right now, she thinks of you as her closest friend. Are you strong enough to do this for her?"

She looks around at all of us and swallows hard. I can see that she is close to tears.

"Yes, I can," she says quietly. "Do you think that Ana will ever forgive me?"

"I'm sure that she will," I say with feeling. "When she is finally her old self again, she will be grateful that you were willing to give her the space that she needed to get well."

She nods and Elliot moves closer and puts his arm around her.

"I'm proud of you, baby," he says. "I know how hard this is for you. Why don't you go get Ava so that we can go home? I have an early morning tomorrow."

"And Kate," I conclude. "Please don't think that we invited you to dinner tonight for a 'let's beat up on Kate night.' We love you every bit as much as we love Ana. We wanted to have this open and honest discussion with you as way of bringing you closer to the family, not to isolate you."

When she goes upstairs, Elliot breathes a deep sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Mom," he says. "Thanks, Dad. Life has been kind of hellish at home for the last four weeks. I'm glad that this is resolved before Christmas."

"So are we," replies Carrick. "I just wish that things could be resolved for Ana and Christian."

"No chance of that?" he asks bleakly.

"It's not likely," I answer. "She has made a little progress this week but she still has a long way to go."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"So are we, son," says Carrick. "So are we."

After they leave, I look at my husband. It was just a hell of an evening, but at least our intervention worked. Convincing Kate to let up will eliminate one external stressor at least. The hardest thing right now is that we are all waiting for the next show to drop. Sooner or later, the blues are going to hit poor Ana again with a vengeance. It is only a matter of time.


	19. Red Sky in Morning

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: If you are hoping for a swift recovery, this chapter is not for you. In fact, some of you may find it very disturbing. However, to solve all of Ana's problems after only a month would be an insult to those who have suffered through this kind of extreme, debilitating depression. Those who have traveled this road know the truth. And it is not pretty. This story "doesn't **_**have**_** to last months," but for most women, it does.**

**Chapter 17: Red Sky in Morning . . .**

This morning when I wake up, I actually notice the brilliant light of the sunrise entering the bedroom through the enormous glass window. I look over and see Christian sleeping beside me. Phoebe is waking up however, starting to rustle in her bassinet. I can her little cooing and humming as she prepares to start her day. I get up out of bed and pick her up. I settle us in the rocking chair so that we can nurse. She latches on immediately and then her little face acquires its special blissful look as she gazes up at me.

My little girl is so beautiful. Teddy was a beautiful baby also, but Phoebe is gorgeous. She obviously got her looks from her father. I can see the sun rising as a new day dawns. Shades of pink and red fill the room with their glow. It has been four days since I have stepped out into the light once more. My mind feels more lucid and my thoughts have greater clarity. If I just hang in there. I feel like I can do this.

Suddenly, Christian stirs. His hand reaches across the bed and before he is able to open his eyes, he sits up and frantically calls out my name, "Ana! Ana! Where are you?"

"I'm right here," I say soothingly. "Phoebe woke up and was hungry. I'm feeding her."

He looks over at us in disbelief. Poor man. Have I really done this to him? For one morning I wake up before him and he is beside himself with worry. Of course, why wouldn't he be? I suppose that if I were him, I would be worried if I couldn't find me in the bed. Or do I mean if I couldn't find him in the bed? But if I couldn't find him in the bed, then maybe he would have left me. The thought makes me sick.

My mind is suddenly running through the various scenarios at a frenetic pace. If he left me, would he take the children with him? But why would he do that? This is their home. No, he wouldn't leave. I would be the one to leave. But would he let me leave? He's going to all of this trouble to keep me here. Maybe he wants to keep me here so that no one knows the secret of his crazy wife. Perhaps, I am like Bertha, Rochester's crazy wife in _Jane Eyre._ Has Christian found his own Jane? Where is she hiding?

My thoughts are muddled again and racing around my mind in circles like Teddy's trains on his railroad track. I look down at Phoebe and notice that she is ready to switch to the other side. I automatically switch her and as I do, I notice that Christian is carefully observing me.

"Are you alright, Ana?" he asks me.

"Are you?" I ask, because I can't think of anything else to say.

"I'm fine," he says carefully, too carefully, like he really is talking to some kind of a slow-witted person. "I was just worried when I woke up and you weren't in bed. It's been so long since you have gotten out of bed first. I was afraid . . . "

"What were you afraid of?" I ask boldly.

"I was afraid that something had happened to you," he admits. "But here you are. You look so beautiful in the morning light. Just you and Phoebe together is the pink light of dawn. It's going to be another great day, isn't it?"

Is it? I don't know. I thought that I knew ten minutes ago, but then my mind started to race in circles like a toy train on a track. I got confused. My thoughts ran off the track. Is that supposed to be a joke or simply a metaphor? Why am I thinking about trains anyway? What day is it today? It must be almost Christmas.

"What day is it?" I ask. "Is it Christmas?"

Christian's face falls a little.

"No," he says. "It's only December 23rd. Remember? Yesterday the doll came for Phoebe. You wrapped it yourself. See? It's over on the dresser. We are going to decorate the tree today so that we can start putting the presents under it."

Presents? Tree? Why is he throwing all of this information at me? I remember, sort of. But there are so many things to remember. I see the gift for Phoebe on the dresser. Yes, I wrapped it myself in the silver and white paper. It's her little dolly, her first dolly. I picked it out when Grace showed me the magazine. She helped me order it online from FAO Schwartz. It's so pretty. It looks like her. She has an Italian name, only I can't remember it. Does Christian?

"Christian, do you know the dolly's name?" I ask.

Christian's face falls a little more, but then he recovers his smile and says, "Alessandra."

"Of course," I say. "Alessandra. You were always so good with details like that. I remember when you first met Ray. You talked to him about fishing because I told you that he liked to go fly fishing when you took me out for coffee at the Portland Coffee House. But I didn't have coffee, I had tea. And you remembered that too. The first morning I woke up in your apartment the box of Twinings English Breakfast Tea was waiting for me in the cabinet. That was when you wanted me to be your sub. You were hoping . . . "

I stop talking because I realize that Christian is just barely following. What is his problem? He's a smart man. Can't he follow a simple line of logic? Is what I am saying logical? Of course it is. I am moving from one topic to the next and the next and the next. They are all related to one another, sort of.

I guess it's like James Joyce, stream of consciousness. Since when did he become so dense? He must have read Joyce in school. He did go to Harvard after all. But then again, he did drop out. Maybe he didn't get to read Joyce after all. And he wasn't an English major like me. Do only English majors read Joyce anymore? Even now he is looking at me as if he is perplexed.

"What's wrong?" I ask him. "Did I make a mistake? I thought that I had it all right. Did I forget something?"

"No, baby," he says slowly. "You got it all right."

But he still looks odd. He lies back down on the bed and stares at the ceiling. Maybe I woke him up too early. He has always worked very hard, too hard if you ask me.

"Were you up late last night working?" I ask.

"No, not too late," he says quietly. "I wasn't working right before I came to bed. Remember? You came to me in the office after the children were in bed. You missed me. You asked me to play the Marcello for you. You sat beside me on the piano bench as I played and then we went to bed."

"Is this a test?" I ask in annoyance. "Are you trying to confuse me with all of this information? Why can't you just answer a simple question?"

We sit staring at one another for a very long moment. Then, he gets out of bed and comes over and sits on the floor beside me. He lays his head against my knee. He seems to be sad for some reason. Maybe he is sorry for confusing me. I run my fingers through his beautiful, unruly copper locks. It's so thick. Lucky Teddy and Phoebe to have inherited their father's hair!

I look up at the dresser and notice the gift that I wrapped for Phoebe yesterday. Her dolly came and I wanted to wrap it right away before she could see it. I didn't want the surprise ruined. But now that it is safely wrapped it can go under the tree.

"Christian, do you think that we could put up the tree today?" I ask.

I hear a little choking noise from beside me. What's the matter?

"There, there," I say. "It's all right if you don't want to put up the tree today. We can do it tomorrow if you like. Just as long as it is up by Christmas Eve, it will be fine."

The tree is still wrapped and under a tarp outside. It looks very big, but the ceiling in the living room is so high that it won't even come close. I remember decorating the tree last year. I was standing on ladders and looked down and waved at Teddy as he looked up at me. Christian even joked that I was the biggest angel on the tree. Then I dumped tinsel on his head and Teddy laughed and clapped his hands.

"We will put the tree up today," he finally answers me. "Is there anything else that you want to do?"

I don't answer right away because Phoebe is finished nursing. She is looking up at me and smiling. I am so glad that she is smiling at me now. I swing her over my shoulder to burp her, but breast fed babies don't need to burp as much as bottle fed. I can smell her sweet-scented hair. But then I frown. I didn't buy that shampoo. I don't recognize that fragrance.

"Christian, who bought Phoebe's shampoo?" I ask.

"I don't know," he says, after a minute. "Don't you like it?"

"It's alright," I reply. "But it's not the kind that I get."

"If you tell Gail, then I am sure that she will buy whatever you want," he says.

"Oh, no," I answer. "This is okay. It's just not the kind that I buy."

We sit in silence for a few more minutes. But I can sense that Christian is restless, as if something is wrong with him. Then I hear Teddy waking up in his room.

"Daddy! Daddy!" he calls out. "Time for Teddy!"

"Why isn't he calling for me?" I ask.

"Because you don't usually . . . you know," he hesitates. "Usually I am the one who is awake first. Besides, you've got Phoebe right now. I will go get Ted."

He gets up, almost too quickly. Is he trying to get away from me? I hear them in the nursery and suddenly, Teddy comes bounding in and leaps onto the bed. He jumps, leaping from one end to the other. What if he falls?

"Teddy," I say sharply. "Get down off that bed before you hurt yourself!"

He stops jumping and stares and me.

"Mommy yell?" he says in wonder. "Mommy not Auntie Shonda. Auntie Shonda yell. She say no jumping on bed like monkey."

What is he talking about? Who is Auntie Shonda? I don't have any aunts named Shonda and neither does Christian. What is going on here?

"It's okay, sport," says Christian coming in again. "Mommy is just a little confused this morning."

"No, I'm not," I snap back.

"Mommy mad at Daddy too," says Teddy. "Mommy mad at Phoebe?"

What is that child talking about? Why would I be mad at Phoebe? Oh, my head hurts. Why does my head hurt so much. Suddenly, Gail walks in the room.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?" she asks efficiently.

"Ana isn't feeling well this morning," he says. "Could you take the children downstairs?"

I want to protest that I feel perfectly well, but then I remember that my head hurts. I take a last sniff of Phoebe's hair before I reluctantly hand her to Gail.

"Gail," I say. "Did you buy a new shampoo for Phoebe?"

"Yes, I did Ana," she replies gently, too gently. "They didn't have her usual kind at the store. Don't you like it? I can go back later and see if they have her old kind."

"No, that's okay," I reply. "I don't want to be any bother."

"It's no bother," she begins. "I was going . . . "

I interrupt her before she can finish.

"What do you mean it's no bother?" I demand. "Of course it's a bother. Why do you always say that it's no bother? Whenever I ask for something special it has to be a bother."

There, I've said it. I've always wanted to say that. But Gail just looks hurt. Oh, dear! I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. It's just that it's so annoying that whenever someone does something special for you or offers to do something special or you ask her to do something special that she always says that it's not a bother.

"I'm sorry, Gail," I say. "It's just that you always say that everything is no bother. Surely sometimes there are things that actually _are _a bother, but you just don't tell us. You know it is okay to say that something is a bother when it is."

Gail and Christian look at each other like they have a secret. Is Gail Jane? Wait a minute, who is Jane? Where did that thought come from? I don't know anyone named Jane. At least I think that I don't.

"Christian," I ask. "Do I know anyone named Jane?"

"I don't think so, baby," he says sadly. "Gail, on your way downstairs, could you please ask Shonda to come in?"

"Yes, sir," she says quickly and before I know it, she has disappeared down the hall.

"Christian," I ask patiently. "How can I know someone named Shonda, but not someone named Jane? After all, Jane is a much more common name. I didn't even know that Shonda was a name."

But he doesn't answer, he just looks at me bleakly. Then Shonda walks in.

"Good morning, Ana, honey," she says. "How are you this fine morning?"

"Good morning, Shonda," I say. "I'm okay, but Christian seems upset about something."

She looks at me.

"Mmmm, hmmm," she says. "And why do you all think that Mr. Christian is all upset about something?"

"Well, he's been acting very funny since he woke up," I explain. "I mean, it's like he can't even follow the simplest explanation."

"Mmmm, hmmm," she replies. "And what you been splaining to him this morning?"

"Oh, I don't know," I say, putting my hand to my head. "I was talking about what a great memory he has for detail. You know. He remembered the name of the dolly that I got for Phoebe. Then he remembered about how Ray liked fishing. And he remembered how I liked breakfast tea because I didn't drink coffee when he took me out for coffee in Portland. You know I think his problem is that he never read James Joyce. You know, even though he went to Harvard."

"Mmmm, hmmm," she says. "And listening to you go running off at the mouth is like walking right there into _Finnegan's Wake."_

"I never read _Finnegan's Wake_," I reply. "But I did read _Ulysses _my sophomore year in college. Wow! And I was an English major. I didn't know nursing majors read Joyce."

"Mmmm, hmmm," she answers. "I didn't read no Joyce in college. I had to read it for AP English in high school. That boy was one messed up fool with all that stream of consciousness nonsense. Got me a 5 on the AP test though. Tested me right out of English 101."

Now Shonda's doing it. She's throwing so much information at me at once that my head is hurting. In fact it's pounding. Shonda and Christian are looking at each other warily. What do they know that I don't know? Something is wrong with everyone today. Why does my head hurt so much? I think that it's the red light. I try to shade my eyes, but it's too bright.

"Is something hurting your eyes, Ana?" asks Shonda kindly.

"It's this red light," I say. "Christian, why are the shades open on that window? The red light is hurting my head."

"I'm sorry, baby," he says as he walks over and pulls down the blinds. "Is that better?"

"No, it isn't," I say. "My head still hurts. Where is that red light coming from?"

"Ana, honey, why don't you let me help you back into bed?" asks Shonda. "I think that maybe you are having a migraine or something."

"But I don't get migraines," I protest.

"There's a first time for everything," she says, as she takes my arm and leads me over to the bed.

"But I'm not the one that gets migraines," I say, as I get back into bed. "My mother gets migraines. They are so bad sometimes that she has to lie down in a dark room."

"Well, that's what we're going to do for you right now," she says, kindly. "Mr. Christian why don't you go downstairs and have breakfast with little Teddy?"

If Christian is going downstairs then maybe that's where Jane is.

"Shonda," I say. "Is Jane here? You know. Is she downstairs since I'm upstairs?"

Christian looks at her helplessly. I knew that he was up to something! But she looks back at me.

"So then who does that make you, Ana?" she asks. "Bertha?"

Now I know the truth. Shonda is in on the secret too. Christian looks totally baffled. But he can't fool me. He wants to hide me upstairs and let people forget about me. I suddenly feel sad. And my head hurts. My heart hurts. I know that it's not his fault. He has the children to think of. What would they do with a crazy, depressed mother? They need Jane. She would take good care of them, not like me.

"Mr. Christian, I do think that it would be best if you go downstairs," says Shonda. "And you can call Dr. Charlotte for us."

Of course, Charlotte! Why, she wrote the book! Maybe Shonda is on _my _side. Maybe she is asking for Charlotte to come and rewrite the book. Then Bertha won't be crazy and Jane won't get Rochester after all. I can see that Christian doesn't know what she's up to. But that's because he went to Harvard and never read any of the classics. I wonder if Shonda knows that back at Escala, he has a whole room full of first editions that he hasn't even read.

"My head hurts," I say out loud. "Shonda, why does my head hurt so much?"

"I don't know honey," she says in a nice quiet voice that doesn't make my head hurt more. "Maybe Dr. Charlotte can figure it out for you."

"Why don't you give me a pill?" I ask fretfully.

"I can't give you no pill," she says. "Remember that you is nursing little baby Phoebe. I can't give you no pill unless Dr. Charlotte says it's okay."

"Oh, that's right," I answer. "I forgot. But this pain is so . . . intense. My head feels like it's going to explode."

"Hush, now, baby," she calms me. "Ol' Shonda will just set right by you until Dr. Charlotte come."

I close my eyes and try to gather my thoughts, but they have been shattered by the pain and are scattering in the wind. Everything hurts. Even lying in bed under the blanket hurts. It's better now that it's dark. And it's so quiet. Yes, of course, that's Shonda. She keeps everything quiet for me. What would I do without her? I ponder this as I drift into a restless sleep.

My dreams are too loud and colorful. There are bright colors everywhere and shapes that ebb and flow and morph against one another. As each shape changes it seems to emit a piercing noise. It hurts my head. I know that I am moaning. The pain is inescapable. I hear the voices over my head, speaking in hushed tones.

"I don't understand what happened," I hear the anguish in Christian's voice.

"Just try to think back and remember," says Charlotte gently. "You said that she was speaking rapidly and not making any sense."

"Yes, the pace of her words was frenetic," he replies. "She seemed upset when I didn't know what to say to her. But I was frightened. I could feel her slipping away from me, but she was totally unaware."

"What was she saying?"

"Random thoughts," he says. "She said I didn't understand . . . something about stream of consciousness."

"Yes, ma'am," says Shonda. "She's talking about James Joyce, saying that everyone was confusing her with too much information."

"Then she started asking about someone named Jane," he continues. "Where is Jane, she asked. Then Shonda asked her about Bertha."

"Bertha?"

"Mmmm, hmmm, Dr. Charlotte," says Shonda. "I asked her if she was Bertha. She said yes, so I tells Mr. Christian to call you. She wants to know if you gonna rewrite the book."

For a few moments there is silence.

"What the hell is going on?" asks Christian.

_"Jane Eyre," _replies Charlotte. "You never read it, I guess. It's a novel by Charlotte Bronte about a hopeless love between Jane and Rochester. Rochester's wife Bertha is crazy and he keeps her locked away for the protection of them all."

"Oh my God!" says Christian in despair. "Has she lost all touch with reality?"

"No, I doubt that very much," says Charlotte. "Remember that she was confused. She is full of anxieties and fears, the greatest of which is that she will lose you. She is using the story as an allegory to tell us what she is afraid of most."

"That I will leave her?"

"No, I don't think so," answers Charlotte. "I suspect that the fog of her depression may be descending again. Something triggered it, but there is no way of knowing what. It could have been something as small as an evocative scent."

There is more silence in the room. The colors are getting louder. I want to talk. I want to tell them all the things that are in my head. But the pain is too great.

"When I woke up," Christian finally says slowly. "I was frightened because she wasn't in the bed with me. She had gotten up before me and was nursing Phoebe, but I didn't realize it right away. I told her that I was scared and that was when she seemed to pull away from me."

"That was probably the trigger," replies Charlotte.

"Then this is my fault," he says as his voice breaks.

No! No! I scream in my head. But the words can't get past the noise and the colors. Christian this is _my _fault. I am the one. I feel like I am screaming but the words can't past the colors that are flashing, blazing before my eyes. I try to move. I want to reach out. Christian! Christian! Don't leave me!

Then I feel a pair of strong arms around me. I know who is holding me, rocking me like a baby. I feel his tears on my face and then the sobs escape from me. I break through the barrier of colors and noise and I can see through the dim that I am in my own bed, in my own bedroom, in my husband's arms. I can hear my own words as the cut through the air, no longer restrained by the colors and the noise.

"Help me!" I gasp. "Help me! The colors! The noise! Take it away! The pain! It's cutting through my brain like a knife!"

"Dr. Charlotte!" says Shonda, clearly upset by my sudden outburst. "You gots to help her! She can't take this no more! Mr. Christian! Look at him! You gots to do something for this poor child."

I don't hear anything, but I feel. I feel Christian cradling me in his arms and holding me as if his life depended on it. I want to grasp at him, to hold on, but I can't. I am so, so tired from fighting the pain. I feel something slip on my arm. Then it tightens. I hear a pumping noise.

"120 over 80, Dr. Charlotte," says Shonda, although her voice sounds very far away.

"That's good," replies Charlotte. "Christian, try to hold her still. Ana, this may hurt fir a minute, but then the pain is going to go away for a while."

Then I feel something tight on my arm. Someone is tapping the inside of my arm. I feel the needle go in and the numbness, the blessed, unfeeling numbness spreads from my arm to through to the rest of my body.

The pain is gone.


	20. Longings

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: In my previous stories I established that Christian's biological father was found and they connected after all these years. The man I created was "Chris Price," and I invented a whole family to go along with him. The stories "Hell Hath No Fury" and "Who Shot the Bitch Troll?" tell that story. **

**Chapter 18: Longings**

I finally feel Ana relax in my arms, as the medication does its job. I hold her close and pray that even though we had to anesthetize her do it, she can get some relief from the pain. I do not want to break our precious contact. I want to lie down with her and hold her until she wakes. But when I look up at Charlotte and Shonda, I realize that I can't give in to my wishes. There are people who are counting on me to continue to be strong.

"What will happen when she wakes up?" I say as I stroke her hair.

"She will most likely be depressed again, probably worse than before," says Charlotte.

"Maybe I should stay," suggests Shonda nervously. "How can I leave my poor Ana like this?"

"You need a break," replies Charlotte firmly. "Just now, you nearly broke down. You need to get away and enjoy your time with your daughters. You will come back stronger. Trust me, she will still need you when you return. But she needs you strong. What do you think just happened?"

"I think that she got stressed," says Shonda. "Then she got a migraine, a really bad one, like the kind with hallucinations. You know, the lights, the colors, harsh noise. She said her head was exploding."

"Has she had migraines before?" Charlotte asks me.

"Not that I know of," I say.

"Her mother?"

"Yes, ma'am," says Shonda. "When I asked her if she got them, she no, her mamma did."

"That's good to know," replies Charlotte thoughtfully. "Yes, I suspect that the pain was stress-induced. It has probably been very stressful for her the past few days. Her mind has probably been holding the sad feelings at bay."

"Why won't she accept that my love for her is unconditional?" asks Christian. "Why is she so convinced that I will leave her?"

"It's not your love that she is not accepting," explains Charlotte. "What she is refusing to accept is her worthiness for it. Did she ever once mention Rochester in her ramblings before?"

"No," Shonda and I say together.

"Then it's not about you," she says. "It's about her. Her feelings of low self-esteem are crippling her and getting in the way of her recovery. There are a lot of things running through her mind that she is not telling us. This morning, you said that she was rambling and that she was speaking so quickly that you could barely keep up.

"That is the way her brain has been working. Right now, her mind is a terrifying place for her to be. Her thoughts make no more sense to her than they do to you. Her intelligence is also working against her as she tries to justify her thought process by thinking of James Joyce. I know that you don't like the idea, but it may be best if we hospitalize her again."

"No," I say. "She does not want to be in the hospital. I won't force her to go."

"Christian," she says. "I just gave her a strong medication. Shonda and I will have to watch her very closely. I also think that we have reached a point where we will have to look into drug therapy and the next step. There are a lot of excellent medications out there, but finding the right one at the right dosage is tricky. Some of them require blood tests so that we can monitor the blood levels. If Ana was not your wife, but your typical mental health patient, her doctor would put her in the hospital for her own safety."

"No," I repeat. "Especially not now, two days before Christmas."

"Christmas or not," she says. "I need to start treatments right away. If you like, you can consult with John Flynn. In fact, if you want, bring him in for a second opinion. Bring in your mother too. Maybe she can talk some sense into you. But we need to stabilize her and the best place to do it is in the hospital."

But I can't do it. I know that Ana is already going to be very upset because she won't be able to nurse Phoebe anymore when the medication begins. However, Mother did say that she was ready to wean. And I will call both Mother and Flynn. Deep down, I know that neither of them will take my side, but I have to try. And while I know that Ana won't trust Flynn, I do know that Mother has helped her make great progress.

"I just don't want to upset the children right at Christmas," I say, knowing that I am beginning to lose the battle.

"Phoebe does not even know it is Christmas," replies Charlotte logically. "Teddy is aware, but he is even more aware that his mother is ill. This will upset him more than if she is away. You will have a Cadillac level of care in the hospital so that you can certainly bring the children in to see her any time you like."

But it's more than just the children. I look at her as she sleeps peacefully, but I know that it is nothing more than an illusion. The drugs have shut down her mind, but once it wears off, she will return to her previous state. But I want to be with her. I want to be there for her. Even though I know that I could stay with her in the hospital, I can't leave the children.

"I want to be with Ana," I say at last. "Wherever she is. But I can't leave the children. Can't we please keep her home for a couple of more days?"

"Let me call Grace," says Charlotte gently. "Shonda, if you could stay until the Ativan wears off I would appreciate it. I need someone to watch her who knows what to look for if there is a problem with the interaction. Christian, do you want me to call John?"

"I don't need a second opinion," I say wearily. "I trust you."

"I don't mean for a second opinion," she replies. "I mean for you. This is a highly stressful situation and you need someone to talk to. But for now, why don't you stay with Ana. Is there someone, a close friend that we can call to help distract Teddy."

"Why don't you all call that fool, Uncle Joe?" asks Shonda. "And his sweet little girlfriend can help poor Mrs. Gail with the baby. But don't forget about little Sophie. She's been a sad little thing these past couple of days. She needs Mrs. Gail and her daddy to help her through this holiday."

"I don't care who you call," I say. "Charlotte, go ahead and call Mother and Flynn. For all the money that I pay him, he can make a house call. And have Taylor call Jose. He loves Ana and I know that he will do anything for her. And Maritza does love Phoebe."

There's so much to think about, but I still am in touch with my inner CEO and have the ability to take control and delegate. I decide to think of Charlotte as Ros, my second-in-command when it comes to making decisions about my wife.

To keep myself sane, I think about how we can organize the logistics at home and the office. I need to call Andrea and Ros. Things had been pretty quiet because of the oncoming holiday and I trust them to hold down the fort at Grey House. I make a mental note to increase their Christmas bonuses.

Charlotte leaves to implement her suggestions and Shonda sits down in the rocking chair. I lay Ana down on the bed and sit beside her.

"Have you packed yet?" I ask Shonda.

"No, sir," she replies. "I will do that when Ana wakes. That was some powerful drug that Dr. Charlotte gave her. I won't take no chances."

"Was it an anesthetic?" I ask.

"No, sir, Ativan is an anti-anxiety drug," she replies. "An anesthetic puts the body to sleep physically, but it don't do nothing for the brain. The anti-anxiety drug stabilizes the brain and relaxes the patient mentally."

"Do you think that Ana was manic or psychotic just now?" I ask.

"No, I think that she was just plain scared and being scared made her anxious," she says. "And the pain was real bad. If that wasn't a migraine, it sure as hell was just like one. If she was manic, we couldn't have kept her in her seat. And there just wouldn't have one onset like that. Bi-polar is a totally different illness. Ana just doesn't have the symptoms."

"But isn't it possible that she has postpartum psychosis?" I persist.

"You been reading up WebMD again, haven't you?" she replies. "No, if she had that, we would have known it by now. That usually starts up a week or two after the baby is born. And the symptoms here are all wrong. She has bonded with little Phoebe very nicely. And she is no threat to the child's safety."

"But the hallucinations?" I ask.

"I don't know as I'd call them hallucinations like you're thinking about," she says. "I think that maybe she was just saying what she's been thinking aloud, only like Dr. Charlotte says, because she's an English major, she talks in metaphors and allegories. She's trying to understand it herself."

"Does she realize how serious this is?" I ask.

"'Course she does," replies Shonda. "That's what gots her so scared."

"Shonda," I say. "No offense, but I think that you're playing games with me. One minute you're giving me all this street-smart attitude and the next you're talking like a PhD in literature. What gives?"

"Take you longer to figure it out than Mrs. Gail," she answers with a smile. "Most of my patients in the hospital don't have any use for some brilliant scientist type spewing forth all kinds of jargon and whatnot that they can't understand. My ghetto persona helps them to trust me. It makes it easier for them to talk to me because they don't think that I'm looking down on them."

"Ana likes you for that reason too," I say thoughtfully. "She says that you keep it real."

"I sure as hell do," she says. "Living the way that you all do, it's easy to lose touch with the way that most folks live. It would do her a world of good to spend some time in the psych and talk to folks like herself. Sometimes when the patients are talking together, not just in group therapy but informally, they help each other a lot. Ana is isolated here and she would be if you put her back in the hospital in that fancy suite."

I shiver at the very thought of Ana in the psych ward with a bunch of crazy people. I would have to run background checks on all of them. How would I be able to keep her close security with her? It would be my worst nightmare.

"Now, Mr. Christian," she says kindly. "I don't think that is going to happen. The talk therapy alone didn't work, but most people recover with a combination of drugs and talk therapy. Dr. Charlotte knows her business better than anyone."

"But wasn't she getting some benefit from the nursing hormones or whatever they are?" I ask.

"Well," she says. "She will get more benefit from the drugs. But you all are going to have to be real patient if you are going to keep her home. It can take some time to find the meds and the right dosages. But you don't have to think about that. Dr. Charlotte and Dr. Grace will explain it all to you. I'm just sorry that I won't be here to help. I know that Dr. Charlotte is right that I need a break, but I still feel bad leaving poor Ana like this."

"You're a good person, Shonda," I say. "You come in like a force of nature, but underneath you've got a lot of heart. I don't think that I can ever thank you for what you are doing for my wife."

"You're not so bad, yourself," she admits. "At first I thought that you was just some rich ass white man who bought and sold the rest of us. But you're a good man, Mr. Christian. You do a lot of good for people and you sure do love your wife. Not many like you."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "As husbands go I think I'm pretty average."

"No sir," she answers. "I've worked a lot of years in the psych ward. This kind of sickness can make or break a marriage. Depression, bipolar, the whole long list of them stretches everyone to the breaking point. Some men can't stand it. They drift away slowly. I seen it happen. And then, their wives begin to recover and it's only a matter of time before they cut them off."

"Why would any man do that?"

"Don't ask me," she says. "I'd like to take some of them over my knee. They just care more about themselves, you know? At first they can't stand to see their wives so sick. Then their wives don't get well fast enough. Then their wives might have to come back into the hospital again. That's when it gets real hard. If they have children to take care of, it's even harder. But, you, I know that you won't be like that."

"Why is that?"

"Well," she says, as she settles back. "In the first place, you want to keep her home so bad. It's not just that you don't want her in the hospital neither. Folks like you with lots of money can send their sick ones away to special hospitals, you know, the kind that are more like resorts. Now I think that you are kind of nuts to want to keep her at home, but when folks fall in love it makes them a little crazy."

"Yeah, I guess it does," I say. "I mean, it's harder than I thought it would be, but I'm not giving up. And the hardest part is that I just can't talk sense into her."

"Well, Dr. Charlotte's going to take good care of her, you'll see," she says. "And your mamma too. I mean we all love Dr. Grace back there at the hospital. She's someone real special."

"I know," I say softly. "She saved my life."

"I heard about that," she says. "She adopted you when your poor mamma killed herself with the drugs and the drink. And your poor daddy didn't even know you existed until a couple of years ago. You're lucky that you had Dr. Grace to take you in."

"Yes, I was."

I close my eyes because I can't think anymore. It feels like it's been a very long morning already and it's barely nine o'clock. I wonder how long Ana will sleep. She looks so young and vulnerable. It's hard to believe that she was twenty-five on her last birthday. She's lost weight again. I can't remember her being this slim since that dreadful week that we were apart after the trip to Georgia.

We were both torn up by the separation, but she ate almost nothing and cried constantly. She had tried to suck it up for me, and take the beating because I thought that was the only way could relate to her. She didn't safe word. She forgot. She was so caught up in pleasing me that she forgot about herself.

But we found our way back. I took her to Jose's photo exhibit in Portland. It was my excuse to reconnect with her. We went down in Charlie Tango. I don't think that I ever thanked Jose for that. It was my chance to win her back, to try again. And then there were those beautiful pictures of her, seven stunning portraits that she finally let me put up downstairs.

She could never see how beautiful she was. She was mortified when she saw those seven poster-sized, yet intimate, candid pictures of her. I was mortified too, but not because of their nature. They were gorgeous. It was because she was never like that with me. I made her anxious back in those days. I intimidated her. I loved her so much, but she never believed me.

I know that I should get up, go down to my office and start organizing things. But I don't want to leave Ana alone up here. I want to be here when she wakes up. I want her to know that no matter what, I will be there for her. I notice that Shonda is looking at me speculatively.

"Mr. Christian," she finally says. "Ana is going to be sleeping here for a couple of more hours. Why don't you go do what you need to do? I can watch her and I will let you know the minute that anything changes. Then when she do wake up, you can give her your full attention. And if she knows that you got your work done, she won't feel so guilty."

"You know my wife so well," I say.

"Yes, I do," she agrees. "Now scat and get to work."

I go downstairs and see that Gail has finished giving the children breakfast. Sophie is off from school and she is sitting in the living room reading to Teddy. I can hear the housekeeper bustling around the kitchen. I hear voices from Ana's office and I realize that Charlotte and Gail are in there talking.

When I enter, they are both seated. Gail has Phoebe on her lap. All three of them look up at me.

"Christian," says Charlotte. "Your mother will be here in about an hour. John will be here at around two and Jose and Maritza are coming after lunch."

"Jose is going to help Jason and Sawyer put the tree up," continues Gail. "He and Maritza will help Teddy to decorate it. Sophie doesn't really want to be around for that. I think that it would be good for Teddy if you helped to decorate too."

I look at her doubtfully.

"I know that this is probably the last thing on your mind," says Charlotte. "But you need to put up a strong front for your son. I am hoping to convince Ana to come downstairs to watch, but I am not sure that she will agree. However, it will upset her very much if you aren't at least going through the motions. And you will have your mother here to support you."

"Yes, if it helps Ana, I will do anything," I reply. "Are you sure that this wasn't a psychotic break?"

"No," she replies confidently. "She may have her own unique way of trying to understand reality, but she hasn't lost her grip on it. And it was the physical pain of the headache that was causing her to cry and scream. If that wasn't a migraine, I don't know what is. For all we know now, it was either stress or hormonally induced. Once she has calmed down and the pain is gone, she will go back to her former depressive state."

"What kind of drugs will you give her?" I ask.

"I considering an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety drug," she replies. "Both at low dosages to begin with. And there is also a matter of which drugs will be best for her."

"Will you let me know when you decide?" I ask.

"Of course," she says. "And then you can research them on the Internet."

"It doesn't bother you that I plan to do that?" I ask curiously.

"Everyone else does," she shrugs. "In fact if someone gave me a drug and I wasn't familiar with it, I would research it too. If you have some work to do, you should probably do it before Grace comes."

"I know," I sigh. "How is Phoebe, Gail?"

"She's fine," Gail replies. "Would you like to hold her?"

"After I make a few phone calls," I reply. "If you want to take the afternoon off to get Sophie out of the house for a while, you can do it. We'll manage between Maritza and Mother."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," she replies. "All of this Christmas stuff is making Sophie feel sad. She doesn't show it much, but she's even more quiet than usual."

"The take all the time you need," I answer. "You have already given more than I should have been able to expect to help with Ana. She wouldn't want you to neglect your family for us."

Before she can say thank you one more time, I leave the room and go back my office. It is difficult to accept her gratitude when I am the one who should be thanking her. She, Jason, and Sophie have all sacrificed a lot to help us through this difficult time. Mc back in the office, I put on my game face and her to work.

I spit out the words so quickly to Ros and Andrea that they don't have time to offer their condolences or whatever it is that one offers when a family. Member is sick. Up until now, I have been dutifully making the rounds of the holiday social engagements alone. The story out there is that Ana is feeling under the weather. But now I cancel everything. I no longer have the heart to pretend that life is fine and dandy while the whole time I just want to be with my sick wife.

Once that is done, I call Chris Price, my biological father who I met three years ago for the first time. I have been keeping him apprised of all the developments with Ana. He, his wife, and their four children live down in Northern California. The three older girls are all teenagers. Their son, CJ, is a few months younger than Teddy. We last saw them in the summer, right before Phoebe was born.

"How is Ana doing?" asks Chris as soon as he picks up the phone.

"She's been better," I reply. "We all have. This morning we had a pretty bad scene. Dr. Tyler is going to start her on some psych meds to try and stabilize her moods."

"I'm sorry that it came to that, Christian," he answers. "I know how much Ana was enjoying nursing Phoebe. But Charlotte Tyler is the best. You won't go wrong if you listen to her."

Because of the fact that they have three daughters, Chris and Melissa have been interested in Charlotte's work for years. They have even met her on different occasions for fundraising. Both of them were encouraged to hear that she was the doctor on the case.

"I wish that could say that I know what you're going through," he says. "But Melissa never had a problem with the baby blues."

"Well, I'm glad for your sake that you never did have to go through it," I reply. "This is not a case where misery loves company. I wouldn't wish this only worst enemy."

"Is there anything that we can do to help?" he then asks. "You know that we'll be up on the next plane if that would help."

"I'm not sure if it would," I say. "I don't think that Ana could handle any more visitors."

"I wasn't talking about what Ana needs," he says quietly. "I would like it be there for you. You must be going through hell on earth right now. I wish that I could be there to support you."

"Me too," I say without thinking.

And then, I realize that I really do value this man's support. He is my birth father, but he has never tried to usurp my Dad's position in my life. He never tried to impose himself on me. Ana and Melissa have developed a strong friendship and that is the excuse that I've always used for our visits. Now I recognize that even if he's not the father in my life, he is a trusted friend.

"Say the word and we'll be up," he says instantly.

"I'll seriously think about it," I reply. "But things are a little tough now for Gail and Jason. It's Sophie's first Christmas without her mother and she needs them too. I wouldn't want to have so many house guests for them to look after at one time."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs. "We'll stay in a hotel. But do let us know. We are always here for you and Ana."

"Thanks, Chris," I say gruffly. "You know we both appreciate it."

"We'll be praying for you," he says before he hangs up.

That's what he always says. He and Melissa are very religious, but not in a real "holier than thou" kind of way. They do a lot of good works and really take their faith seriously. I used to think of myself as atheist, but now I think that I am more of an agnostic. However, it makes me feel good to know that they are praying for us. It's one of the few things that people can actually do for us.

I don't know how long I am staring off into space before I hear my mother enter the room. The next thing I know, I am surrounded by her embrace as she tries to comfort me.

"Oh, Christian," she says. "Charlotte told me everything. I am so sorry."

"What should I do, Mother?" I reply wearily. "I feel so helpless."

"You need to listen to Charlotte," she says firmly.

"I will let her start Ana on some medications," I reply. "But I'm not ready to put her back in the hospital. I know that we can take care of her here."

"You_ think_ that you can take care of her," replies Mother. "The hospital is still the best option until her medication has been properly adjusted."

"But she wants to be at home," I argue. "She doesn't want to go back. And I want her home. I would miss her too much."

"Well," she says with a sigh. "Right now I am not going to argue with you. Medicating her is a good first step. Just don't totally reject hospitalization out of hand."

I already have, but I am in no mood for a disagreement either. I know that we need to stick together on this, so I just shrug. I've made enough decisions for one day. If I can hold them off for another couple of days and we can get past Christmas, it would be good. While I understand Charlotte's point about the children, I know that Ana would be deeply regretful if she wasn't here for Phoebe's first Christmas. I am hoping that when she wakes up, she will be somewhat improved.

"Ana stays here for now," I finally say. "If there is an obvious and pressing need, I will support taking her back to the hospital. But I really want to keep her at home so that she can give Phoebe her dolly. It seems to mean so much to her."

Mother's face softens.

"I know," she says quietly. "We'll see what we can do. I am going to be staying here for now so I can make sure that her medications are doing what they are supposed to. I can also watch out for the various side effects. All drugs come with them, but using them is a kind of "damned if you do and damned if you don't" thing."

We go upstairs and find Shonda and Charlotte quietly talking in the bedroom. They turn and look at us.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

"Everything is as we expected," replies Charlotte. "Grace, now that you are here, I am going to let Shonda go home. Perhaps you would like to sit with Ana."

"Yes, I would," says Mother. "Have you thought about her meds yet?"

"I'm still working on it," she answers. "She's so small and light, that it's almost like treating a girl. However, she is a nursing mother, so that changes the hormones and such to consider. Of course, she won't be nursing anymore."

"I wish that there was another way to do this," says Mother.

"It was a valiant effort try to treat her with talk therapy alone, but we need to take the next step," answers Charlotte. "She's lucky that she has you to come in and tend to her twenty-four seven. I don't think that I would leave her at home even with Shonda."

"I'm glad to do it," says Mother. "If we can do this without a hospital stay, then that would be best for everyone."

But Charlotte looks doubtful. Shonda reluctantly leaves the room to pack and return home to her daughters. She looks exhausted. I cannot imagine how she has managed the burden that she has for the last month. When all is said and done, I will make sure that she gets a large bonus. In fact, I would be happy to pay off her daughters' loans and pay for the rest of their college. That is, if Shonda will let me.

Since Ana is still sleeping, I return downstairs to see what Teddy and Phoebe are up to. I note that they have moved into the playroom again, where Teddy's train continues to circle around the track. No matter how many times it goes around, it never fails to delight him. Sophie is holding Phoebe and absentmindedly I reach out for her. Phoebe immediately reaches back towards me.

She has never done that before. She always reaches for Ana and sometimes Gail when she sees them, but I haven't been around her nearly as much as I have in the last couple of weeks. She snuggles comfortably into my arms, puts her fingers in her mouth, and sighs. Like Teddy, she is mesmerized by the little train making its way across the track. Idly I notice that the sun has disappeared and that storm clouds are beginning to appear on the horizon.

It's too warm for snow, but rain is nothing new to Seattle. Teddy has some kind of running commentary going on to himself, but I can't really pay attention. My heart and soul are still upstairs with my wife. I miss her and I want her back.


	21. Day of Grace

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: There are no two ways about it. This is a sad story. However, as any of you could guess, the ending will eventually be uplifting. For some readers, a story like this is cathartic. Every once in a while it is helpful to know that there are others out there who understand your pain. A good cry doesn't hurt either. However, some others may find the depictions too raw. It is important to remember that every fan fiction story is not for everyone. If this is too difficult for you to read, I understand. In the future I, will post alerts in front of chapters that are very painful. This is one of them.**

**Chapter 19: Day of Grace**

I am marveling at the situation that Charlotte and Gail have succeeded in creating in the house. When I walked in, Teddy and Phoebe were happily playing with the trains as if it were any other day, while Ana lay asleep upstairs after a very rough morning. Christian is completely caught in the middle, trying to put on a brave face for the children, while dealing with his feelings for Ana's condition. I am proud of his fortitude, but I can see that the strain is really starting to show.

I am glad that Charlotte has called in the "reinforcements." After lunch, the children come upstairs for their afternoon naps. Jose and Maritza arrive. Maritza goes up to the nursery to watch the children rest. Christian has reluctantly moved the bassinet into Teddy's room. However, since we are not entirely sure of how Ana will feel when she wakes up, it is for the best.

Of course, Phoebe doesn't know the difference. But Teddy is happy to have his sister share his room. In fact, we may have difficulty moving her out later, if Ana is well enough to have her back in her own.

"My Fee-bee with _me!" _he announced proudly to Maritza, before he dropped off.

Downstairs, Taylor, Sawyer, and Jose are setting up the enormous tree. The plan is to stand up the tree and string the lights while the children are sleeping and then decorate it when they wake up. Christian is sitting here with me. John Flynn is coming in an hour to speak with him. Charlotte is down in Ana's office working. She went over to her little gatehouse to pick up her computer and some other things that she needs to work. She plans to "set up shop," so to speak here throughout the day and evening.

Although I had not planned on it, I decided earlier to take off for the next two weeks for the holidays from the hospital. My colleagues understand and this season tends to have few patients, since most people want their home for Christmas if at all possible. Christian protested weakly when I told him that I was moving in for two weeks, it it was just that, a weak protest.

Mia and Elliot both understand that I will not be available for Christmas with them, but Carrick will be there to do his fatherly and grandfatherly duty. We hit it the plans for lucky with Ava's first Christmas. Kate and Elliot had already planned on spending a few days with her family. Next year when it is our turn, I hope that everything will be much better with Ana. Ethan has finally planned his "surprise" proposal to Mia and she will be fully occupied with that. She is also going to be dragging him out to parties all over town. Carrick will most likely be able to spend lots of time here.

As we watch Ana sleep, Christian and I are silent, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. Finally, he speaks.

"Mother," he says quietly. "I never realized how much Ana and I had wrapped ourselves around each other's hearts. Right now, I feel like a part of me is missing. It feels as thought there is a hole in my life where she should be."

"It's painful, isn't it?" I say. "It's bittersweet in a sense."

"Beyond painful," he replies.

"On the one hand," I answer. "I am grieving for your pain. On the other, I an happy that you have found true soulmate. The kind of love that you are describing is the very deepest that can exist between two human beings. But remember this. She is not dead. She is still very much alive, she only seems very lost to you now. Have faith. She will return to you."

"I was speaking to Chris earlier and that's what he said," says Christian. "Have faith. I'm just not sure of what I should have faith in."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say regretfully. "Chris and Melissa are very lucky in that they have their faith in God to fall back on when things are hard. I'm afraid that we did a very poor job of instilling that faith in you."

"Mother," he asks. "Have you ever felt like this?"

I am thoughtful.

"I have felt completely lost and without hope in my life," I finally answer. "It's similar, but it's not a exact parallel with this."

"When was that?"

"We had only been married a couple of years when I found out that I couldn't have children," I explain. "It was devastating. Your father was very strong through it all, although I know that he was also very disappointed. As you know, every man secretly desires a son, his own son, to carry on his name. It's the kind of thing that can make or break a marriage."

"Is that the reason why you were so angry with me when I was furious that Ana got pregnant with Teddy?" he asks.

"It was one of the reasons. There were several," I reply. "But, yes, that was the one that made me the most angry. Here you were receiving the greatest gift that any wife can give to her husband, one that I had never been able to give to your father, and you almost threw it away."

"That had not occurred to me at the time," he said. "You must have been very disappointed in me."

"You have no idea," I reply.

"What happened when you found out that you couldn't have children?" he asks, returning to the original topic.

"I became depressed," I answer honestly. "Not as depressed as Ana, but I was very sad. I could cry at the drop of a hat. I couldn't watch television because all of the baby commercials made me cry. I could only work with the older children at the hospital. I wouldn't go near the nursery. I started to see a psychiatrist and he prescribed an antidepressant."

"Did it work?" he asks. "I mean obviously it worked, but did the therapy and medication help?"

"Yes," I reply. "My depression was purely situational. I was grieving the loss of the children that I would never have. Carrick was a trooper through it all. He never faltered in his love or support. It was he who suggested that we look into adoption."

"So you adopted Elliot?" he asks.

"It wasn't as simple as that," I answer. "Naturally we looked into a baby, but as you know, the waiting lists for infants are long. We looked into a foreign adoption, but even that was a lengthy process. Once we made the decision, I was very anxious to make it happen. While we were going through the whole approval process, a social worker called us about a five-year old boy whose parents had recently died in a car crash.

"She was concerned that he would end up in the foster care system, bouncing around from home to home. He was in need of special care because he had been traumatized by the deaths of his parents. He was presently acting out in his foster home, but she thought that if he had the complete attention of two parents, he would turn around."

"And he did," replies Christian.

"Yes," I say. "We didn't want him to be an only child, so we were thinking of adopting another child when you came into the emergency room. One look at you, and I knew that you were my second son. When we adopted Mia two years later, our family was complete."

"Do you ever regret that you couldn't have your own children?" he asks curiously.

"I have my own children," I say, with a smile. "I have no regrets about the way that things have turned out, none at all. But the lesson of the story is that even when life seems to be at its darkest point, its lowest ebb, things eventually do turn upwards. One of the keys to my resilience was your father. Without his strength and patience, I am not sure that I would be where I am today. It is one of the reasons that I am so proud of you right now."

"So then you see us getting past this?" he asks.

"Yes, I do," I say firmly, as Taylor walks into the room.

"Dr. Flynn is here, sir," he says formally.

"Thank you, Taylor," replies Christian automatically. "And thank you, Mother, for giving me hope."

Before he leaves, he gives me a ghost of a smile. I turn my attention to Ana who is finally beginning to stir. She tosses and turns for a minute and then catches my eye. She stares dully back at me.

"It's over," she says cryptically.

"What is, dear?" I ask carefully, purposely leaving the question open ended.

"The headache," she replies, almost entirely without affect. "The lights, the colors, the crashing noise, the pain. It's over."

"How do you feel now?" I ask.

"Flat," she answers. "It's like all the colors have turned to grey. The pain has turned to nothing. I don't really feel anything but tired. I feel like I want to go to sleep for a very long time."

"Why is that?"

"I keep hoping that if I sleep long enough," she replies. "Then when I wake up everything will be normal again. I'll be interested in things again, happy. But that's not the way it's going to happen, is it?"

"I'm afraid not," I reply. "You can use sleep as an escape if you want, but unless you face up to what is going on in your head, you won't feel normal."

"That's what Charlotte says," Ana says, closing her eyes. "I was hoping that you would disagree."

"Sorry, Ana," I reply. "But it's not an opinion; it's a fact."

"I don't even know how to fight it anymore," she says. "I thought that I was and then when Christian couldn't find me when he woke up, he panicked. That was when I saw what I was doing to him, so I panicked. And then the headache came. Do you think that it was a migraine? Shonda was asking me about that."

"It certainly sounds like it was," I say. "It was no doubt the result of your stress and anxiety. You were trying very hard to put up a front that everything was all right. But you can't keep up that kind of a facade for long."

"Charlotte gave me a shot, didn't she?"

"Yes," I say. "She gave you a shot of a drug called Ativan. It is a very powerful anti-anxiety medication. It settled your mind so that you could sleep."

"I suppose that I will have to start taking pills," she says sadly.

"It's the next logical step," I say gently. "You need something to help you control the anxiety and elevate your mood."

"Then I will have to stop nursing," she says resignedly. "Where is Phoebe?"

She looks around, but she does not seem concerned. Either she trusts us or she doesn't care. I really hope that it is not the latter.

"Christian moved the bassinet into Teddy's room," I answer. "They are both napping now. Maritza is with them. Jose is downstairs helping Sawyer and Taylor put up the tree. When the children wake up, he and Maritza will play with them and help Teddy decorate it."

She sighs, but doesn't find it at all odd that Jose and Maritza are here. They weren't scheduled to come. This is not a good sign either, but at least she is asking questions.

"Where is Christian?"

"He's downstairs talking to Flynn," I reply. "He needed to after this morning."

"I'm sure that he did," she says with a sigh. "Did Shonda leave?"

"Yes," I say. "I will be staying here for the next two weeks to help out."

"I would object, but I don't have the energy," she says. "And I also know that Christian needs the help and support. I'm pretty bad right now, I guess."

"You're actually better than I thought you would be," I admit. "Despite the fact that you say that you don't care about anything, you care enough to ask where everyone is. If you were really bad, you wouldn't even care about that."

"I guess," she says. "Where is Charlotte?"

"She's downstairs working in your office," I reply. "She will spend her days and evenings here, on call, you might say. Between her and myself, we should be able to monitor your medications. She is hopeful that she can find the right combination relatively easily."

"What about the hospital?" she asks warily.

"Christian is refusing to consider it," I say. "He wants you home and will only agree to it if there is absolutely no other choice. But if we can stabilize you here then there won't be a need. We are presuming that you want to stay home."

She looks sad and then tears fill her eyes.

"I don't care."

"Well, that's not good," I say, as I begin to worry. "Don't you want to be with Christian and the children?"

"Not if I am going to hurt them," she says.

"Right now, you are not," I say. "Teddy and Phoebe will be more upset if you are not here than if you are, even if you are sick. And Christian can't bear to be apart from you. In fact he would sit up here with you all day, if he didn't need to spend time with the children."

"Okay," she shrugs. "I still don't care, but as long as it is better for them if I stay, then I'll stay."

"Do you want anything to eat?" I ask.

"Not now," she says.

"When did you last eat?"

"Dinner last night," she answers. "I just don't have any appetite."

"That's understandable," I say. "Many of the antidepressants do stimulate your appetite. You need to eat to stay physically strong."

She nods and then looks out the window.

"It's raining now, isn't it?" she asks, but doesn't seem to expect an answer. "It's a gloomy day to suit my mood. And to think that this morning there was a glorious sunrise. Oh, well, I'm not going anywhere anyway."

"No, you're not," she says, and then changes the subject. "I got a note from Kate. She said that she was sorry that I didn't want to see her because I was afraid that she would scold me. She promised she wouldn't. She said that she was working on an investigative report into the way that mental health patients are treated by society."

"Are you thinking of seeing her?" I ask.

"I really don't want to," she answers. "Even if she won't yell at me. You see, it's just too hard to look at her and think of Ava and think of me and . . . "

"That is very understandable," I say sympathetically. "Don't worry about answering her note. I will explain it to her. I think that if she sees how you feel in this light, she will understand. I know how you feel. Truly I do."

"You do?" she asks in surprise.

"I've already talked to Christian about this today," I reply. "When I first found out that I couldn't have children of my own, I was very depressed. And I couldn't bear to see mothers with the their babies. I couldn't even go into the nursery at the hospital, or the maternity ward. It was just to hard to look at the mothers and know that that would never be me."

"That must have been terrible," she says. "Yes, that's how it feels."

"Not exactly," I disagree. "I was never going to be able to have biological children and it took me a while to figure out that the children that we adopted could be every bit as much our children as they would be if I had given birth to them. You can and you will get better. You can even have more children. This is going to pass."

"I wish that I had your confidence," she sighs.

"I do too," I say. "I don't want you to lose hope."

"Neither do I," says Charlotte as she walks in. "I'm glad that you are awake Ana. How are you feeling?"

"That's an interesting question," she says. "I guess you could say that I don't feel anything."

"That's what I would have guessed," Charlotte replies. "But do you feel sad?"

"I don't know if sad quite describes it," she says wearily. "I feel, sad, tired, and like I don't care about anything all at the same time."

"Do you want to sleep?"

"All the time," she sighs. "Right now it just seems easier to escape the pain. I remember when Ray was in a very bad car crash and they had to induce a coma so that he could heal. But I guess that won't work in my case."

"I'm afraid not," she says.

"I thought that you would say that," answers Ana. "That's what Grace said. I was hoping that you would disagree."

I exchange a glance with Charlotte. That is exactly what she had said to me earlier.

"Ana," says Charlotte gently. "I have decided that I am going to start you on a drug called Wellbutrin."

"I thought that I would have to take two drugs," she says.

"I only want to start one at a time," she replies. "That way if you have an adverse reaction or it doesn't work, we will know that it is the Wellbutrin that is the cause. This drug is for depression, but if it also helps with the anxiety, the we may not need a second pill."

"That sounds like a good plan, Ana," I say. "Have you talked to Christian?"

"I just spoke with both Christian and John," says Charlotte. "John agrees with my choice and Christian also agrees. And he is happy that we are only starting with one drug. He has been doing some Internet research already."

"That figures," says Ana, but then stops herself. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I know that he cares about me and wants to be as involved as possible in my treatment."

"Well, your remark did sound a little snarky," says Charlotte. "In your present mood, you really have to be very careful of what you say and how you say it. You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

"So Jose is here to help with the tree trimming?" she asks. "Did I forget that he was coming over?"

"No," replies Charlotte. "It was a spur of the moment thing. We wanted you to have someone around to cheer you all up and Shonda thought of Jose. She called him the court fool. And of course, Maritza can't get enough of baby Phoebe."

"Honeymoon baby here we come," mutters Ana. "Was that too snarky?"

"The tone of it was," answers Charlotte honestly. "I know that you meant to be funny, but the tone was pretty sarcastic."

"Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut," says Ana.

"That's not what I had in mind," says Charlotte. "You need to interact with people. If you spend too much time 'in your own head,' so to speak, it will only make things worse. Even if you don't care about anything, people's feelings still matter."

Ana looks thoughtful for a moment an then curls up in a little ball. I look at Charlotte,who shakes her head. This will never do. Then we hear a noise from next door.

"Wake up, Fee-bee!" cries Teddy. "Twee! Twee! Uncle Joe! Twee!"

The baby starts to cry and we can hear Maritza shushing her in Spanish. Then Teddy runs in and jumps on the bed.

"Twee, Mommy!" he shouts. "Twee! Uncle Joe! Come, Mommy! Fee-bee want Mommy milk."

Before Ana can answer, Charlotte jumps in.

"That's a good idea," she says. "Tell Maritza that will be in shortly."

"Auntie Mawy!" he hollers on his way out. "Mommy coming!"

Charlotte and I turn to Ana, who says firmly, "No."

"Yes," replies Charlotte equally firmly. "One last time. It will make you both feel better. And I want you up and out of the bed."

"No!" she says more emphatically.

"Ana, please," I say gently. "You will regret it if you don't. You only need to get up and go as far as the nursery."

Seeing that she has no choice, Ana gets up and follows us into Teddy's room. There Maritza is standing and holding Phoebe. At the sound of our footfall, Phoebe turns her head. When she sees Ana, she smiles and reaches out for her.

"Bambino wants her Mommy," says Maritza and walks over to place the baby in Ana's arms.

Phoebe reaches up and touches her cheek. Ana's face is expressionless, barely registering the baby's gesture. With a sigh, she sits down and settles Phoebe in to nurse. Phoebe closes her eyes in contentment as her little fist clutches the breast possessively.

"You are very lucky, Ana," I say quietly.

"Why?" asks Ana shortly, indicating that she doesn't feel the least bit fortunate at this moment.

"Because that is something that I never got to do for my children," I say, ignoring her tone.

"Oh," she says.

Teddy is getting restless. I think that he knows that he is missing something going on downstairs. Or maybe he is just itching to see Uncle Joe. Maritza takes him by the hand to go down ahead of us. She looks at Ana uncertainly, as if she want to say something, but then she changes her mind.

After they leave, Ana looks around listlessly.

"I guess that we can leave Phoebe in here," she says wearily. "If she's no longer nursing, then maybe she will sleep through the night."

"Maybe," I reply. "But if she doesn't then you will have to go further away to get her."

"It won't be me," she answers. "Christian's been getting up for her. He usually brings her to me. But he could give her a bottle."

I am not sure that I like the sound of that. It's not that I think that Christian would mind giving the baby a bottle at all. I know for a fact, that he enjoys it. But it will become one less thing for Ana to get out of bed for. When Phoebe is done nursing, Ana looks uncertain.

"Do you want to bring Phoebe down to Maritza?" she asks.

"Why don't you bring her down yourself?" I reply. "I'm sure that Teddy will want you there."

"No, I'm too tried," she says. "Id rather go back to bed."

"That is not a good idea," states Charlotte firmly. "There is no reason why you cannot be up and about."

"I'm staying here," she answers stubbornly.

Charlotte gives me a nod and I take the baby, but Charlotte indicates that she wants me to stay with Ana. She goes downstairs and in a few minutes, Christian returns upstairs. Ana closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

"I am so sorry," she says sadly.

"I'm sorry too," says Christian gently, as he kneels beside her. "I am sorry that things are so hard for you know. But we all want you to come down and spend some time with us."

"I can't face everyone," she replies. "And I feel dizzy. You know, from the medication."

"Don't worry about that," he says. "I'll carry you down. And if you can't stay for long, I'll carry you back up. But Jose has been asking for you. You should see the fun that he and Ted are having."

For a minute, she doesn't know what to say. Seeing her moment of weakness, Christian sweeps her up in his arms and walks out. I follow with Phoebe. As we come down the stairs, I can see that the tree looks magnificent with its lights. It nearly touches the ceiling. The fire in the fireplace is roaring. Jose has put Teddy up on his shoulders so that he can reach the high branches. Maritza is standing beside them handing him ornaments.

Off to the side, Flynn and Charlotte are watching the merriment. When he sees us, Ted squeals in delight.

"Look, Mommy! Look, Daddy!" he cries. "Uncle Joe make me go up! Auntie Mawy help me! Look, Gramma!"

I smile to see the little boy so joyful. This is how Christmas should be. Phoebe's eyes are large at the sight of the colorful lights and her big brother having fun. She chortles with happiness and reaches out. I look over and notice that Christian is barely aware of the scene playing out before us. His focus is completely on Ana. Her eyes are closed as she rests her head against his shoulder.

When we get to the large couch, Christian sits down, still tenderly holding Ana in his arms. She curls up against him. She doesn't look as though she is at peace, but she does look like she feels safe. Christian tightens his grip with one arm and gently strokes her hair with the other hand. He hardly seems to be aware of anyone else in the room.

I sit down beside them and set Phoebe only lap so that she can see her brother as he hangs various ornaments. The tree looks funny now, with a band of ornaments that are as low and as high as he can reach from Jose's shoulders. Finally Maritza tells him to save some for the rest of the tree.

"No pwoblem, Auntie," he replies sanguinely. "Daddy buy more. Right, Daddy?"

Christian looks up at the word "Daddy," but has not been following the exchange. Teddy patiently explains what he just said.

"No, buddy," says Christian. "The tree will look better if we spread them out more rather than clumping them all in one place, okay?"

"No cwumping," agrees Teddy. "Cookies?"

All of us, except Ana, laugh. Teddy looks confused.

"Hey, man," says Jose. "Nobody can change topics faster than you. You want to go on a scouting expedition?"

"Where?" Teddy asks eagerly.

"The kitchen!" replies Jose with a wink.

The two of them scamp off like a little puppy chasing after a huge dog. Teddy takes a leap at him and Jose grabs him and holds him under his arm like he is a football. We can hear his laughter as it fades into the large expanse of the house. I turn and look at Maritza, whose eyes are following them fondly.

"Jose is going to make a wonderful father someday," I comment.

"Yes, he is," she replies. "This is good practice. May I hold little Phoebe, please?"

"Of course," I reply.

Phoebe senses that she is about to change hands and looks longingly at Ana. Ana's eyes are closed and she is unaware that her daughter wants her. The baby looks up at me and reluctantly goes to Maritza.

"Such a little sweetie!" croons Maritza. "What a good girl!"

Phoebe responds with a little smile. She is just as distractible as Teddy. I look up at Charlotte and Flynn who have been quietly observing the interactions, or lack thereof, from the doorway to Ana's study. They disappear inside, no doubt to confer on both of their patients.

Then Teddy and Jose return, with Teddy hanging off of Jose's back as he gallops in. Somehow, Jose has managed to also bring in a plate of sugar cookies that have been cut in the shape of Christmas trees. Teddy laughs and leaps off.

"Cookies!" he shouts. "Mommy! Daddy! Cookies!"

Neither Christian nor Ana look like they are the least bit interested, but Christian picks up a cookie and takes a bite.

"Yummy!" he says. "You want it try, Mommy?"

Ana looks like she will refuse, but then she notices that Teddy's eyes are on her face as Christian holds the cookie that he has just bitten in front of her mouth. She takes a little bite.

"Mmm," she says softly.

"Daddy feed Mommy!" crows Teddy in delight.

His obvious pleasure draws a smile from both of them. Ana extends her hand and Teddy walks over to her.

She looks directly into his eyes and says, "Theodore Raymond Grey you are the best little boy in the world."

Teddy looks back at her and seriously says, "I know."

We are all silent for a moment and then Jose breaks in with, "Yes, Ted, and you got all of your humility from your father."

Teddy looks perplexed by that, but the remark causes Christian to smile a little wider. Ana looks between the three of them and seems to be trying to hold onto her smile. It is difficult to tell what she is thinking, but she seems to be pleased. She rests her head back on Christian's shoulder without speaking.

Already diverted by the sight of the boxes of ornaments, Teddy drags Jose over to pick out the next set to go up. Maritza brings over Phoebe and shows her the pretty colors. Christian looks at them longingly. His thoughts are easier to read. He wishes that he could replace Jose and Maritza with Ana and himself. I give him a sympathetic glance.

I want to tell him that although it may be difficult to watch this, it would be worse if he and Ana were upstairs and away from the children. The very fact that he was able to get Ana down here at all was quite a feat. I can tell that it is very hard for her to be around others, but I don't want to see her slip away from us.

I consider Charlotte's choice of Wellbutrin. Since it has to be taken at regular intervals, she isn't going to start until the evening. It may not be a miracle drug, but if it could lift her spirits just a fraction, it would make things a little easier for all of us. Easier, but certainly not easy. It would never be easy. However, I was beginning to understand the value of Chris Price's way of thinking. Faith in something bigger than yourself, gave you more reason to hope.

Looking around this room, as we all tried to envelop Ana in our love, there was every reason to hope.


	22. Made With Love

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: This is a happier story. But that doesn't mean that it still won't make you cry.**

**Chapter 20: Made with Love**

My heart just breaks for Ana and Mr. Grey. It's Christmas Eve and Ana has slipped back into her former state of depression. Shonda has gone to spend the week at home with her daughters. She has been here for a month without a break. There is no other nurse that Mr. Grey will trust coming into the house, even if Ana would be willing to let her come.

Dr. Grace offered to come and stay, but Ana just looked at her listlessly and told her to go home to her "happy" family. But once she heard that, there was no stopping her. Now Dr. Grace is staying in the green room, the one set aside for the Price girls when they come to visit. We haven't seen them in a while. But with the way that Ana is these days, we probably won't be seeing them for a while. They are all old enough to understand what is going on.

So far we have done a good job of hiding Ana's relapse from Teddy, who is luckily, still too little to understand. And he was too little last year to remember much of Christmas. He is in awe of the enormous tree that now fills the great room. He is very proud that helped decorate it. Jose even lifted him up so that he could sit on his shoulders and reach the high part.

Mr. Grey and Jason moved the train set out of the playroom so that it now circles the tree, much to Teddy's delight. There are also quite a number of gifts wrapped up and underneath. Like so many other children tonight, I have no doubt that the young lad will having trouble falling asleep.

Poor, little Sophie has picked up on Ana's mood. It is not even five months since she lost her mother. At her request, we have not put up the tree in the apartment. When we went to Colorado to sort through Jeannine's belongings, we discovered the boxes of Christmas ornaments that she had been collecting since Sophie was born.

Even though she said that she didn't want them, we packed them up and brought them back. There may be a time when she will be able to look at them without feeling sad. These are irreplaceable pieces of her life with her mother. I don't want her to regret someday that they were thrown away.

Besides, she is spending so much time with me in the big house that there isn't much use in having a tree at home. Since Ana slipped back into her malaise, Sophie has been with Teddy almost constantly. Several of her friends invited her to parties, but she didn't have the heart to go to them. It was just too difficult to see other boys and girls with both parents. Of course, a number of them were divorced, but most people seem to make up for their children's sake at holiday time.

Jason and Luke have been on high alert since Ana's mood shift. Both of them were very upset when Shonda left, but no one could begrudge her the time with her girls. Dr. Charlotte has been making more frequent visits than usual. In fact she is now using Ana's study as a temporary office. She must have the patience of a saint. I know that sometimes she just sits with Ana who is very reluctant to get out of bed. Yesterday, after she woke up, she refused to eat lunch.

Decorating the tree was a rather half-hearted event. Fortunately, Jose and Maritza were able to make a "surprise" appearance, so they helped Mr. Grey to keep things cheerful for the children. With his own kind of tenacity, Mr. Grey picked up Ana and carried her down to join them. He at least got her to stay until the tree was decorated.

With a little prodding from Charlotte, Ana came down to dinner, but she ate almost nothing. Then, she joined us in the living room for the lighting of the tree and the official switching on of the train. Both Teddy and Phoebe's eyes were large with amazement at the sight of the beautiful tree and the train running around it. Mr. Grey played a few old carols on the piano and led us in singing. But no one's heart was really in it.

One of the reasons that Dr. Charlotte insisted that Ana eat was that she was finally making her take an anti-depressant. After the episode yesterday morning, she had no choice. It was useless for Ana to continue to fight it on her own. After she woke up from her sleep, she nursed Phoebe one last time. So far, Phoebe has been amenable to the bottles. Dr. Grace has finally found a formula that agrees with her.

This morning Ana woke up in a slightly better mood, but she wouldn't come down to breakfast. Dr. Grace insisted that I bring up a tray with her favorite Greek yogurt, granola, and blueberries. After she had eaten, she gave her another pill and then went to play with her grandchildren.

I was a bit surprised when I found that Phoebe was now sleeping in Teddy's room, but Dr. Charlotte had Mr. Grey move her in after Ana's breakdown because she didn't know how she would be when she woke up. It would probably be okay to move her back, but Teddy wants "his Fee-bee" with him. He cried when we tried to move her back. That made Ana cry and she insisted that Teddy get his way.

That is one interesting thing that I have noticed about Ana throughout this entire ordeal. Despite that fact that she is lethargic and apathetic, she still cares about the feelings of those around her. She feels terribly guilty for the pain that she is putting everyone through. While she is not strong enough to pull herself out of her depression, when she has the chance, if it is something that she can manage, she will try to help the others.

Mr. Grey is the most difficult. After living with them for the past three and a half years, I know better than anyone how deeply they care for one another. When he is with, he is calm and patient, and always solicitous of her needs. When he had to leave her side, he looks lost. His pain is almost as unbearable to witness as hers. But we have a plan for the holiday that will hopefully lighten the load for him.

It was Dr. Charlotte's idea that we blend our families for the holiday. It gave Jason an excuse to stay close to Ana and it helped two of us from feeling too isolated, Mr. Grey and Sophie. She would have even liked it if Jose and Maritza could come back, but they were spending Christmas with her family. Grace has been welcome presence all day,

as she easily slipped in and out of roles as needs arose.

She was the strong, devoted mother for Christian, the gentle mother-in-law to Ana, the cheerful Grandmother to Teddy and Phoebe, and most sweetly, the kind friend to Sophie. At the moment, she is the one whose quiet strength is helping us all get through. I cannot imagine how we could ever have gotten through this without her.

We had been very close to getting Ana to allow her parents to come for the holiday, but this relapse hit so quickly that there was no time to make one final effort to convince her. Luckily, Ray will be spending the day with Jose Sr., who had no one else to be with, and Carla will be with her husband, Bob, in Las Vegas. However, Mr. Grey has arranged for the corporate jet to pick them up so that they can spend New Year's here.

Mr. Carrick Grey and Dr. Grace have offered them and Ray accommodations at their large home in Bellevue. Ana knows that the children will be going over there to visit, but so far she has not shown any interest in attending herself. She doesn't want to come between the children and their other grandparents. She is even allowing both of them out of the house. It nearly became another thing to feel guilty for.

Dr. Charlotte has told us to be patient. She is hoping that in the intervening week between Christmas and New Year's, she can convince Ana to see them. It will take a few days for the meds to kick in, but she refuses to count on that. She thinks that if they are meeting on neutral ground, it might make it easier for Ana. But it would also require that we get Ana out if the house and right now we are barely able to get her out of her bedroom for any real length of time.

Dr. Grace and Mr. Grey have been sitting with her in shifts, with Dr. Charlotte occasionally insisting that they both be downstairs for the children. Sawyer is on guard in the second floor hallway, keeping a discreet distance from the bedroom door. If she goes downstairs, he shadows her. He refuses to let anyone spell him except Jason. And then, he only leaves long enough to sleep. He is even eating his meals up there.

This evening will be very low key. Mr. Carrick is coming over to spend the night with his wife. We will all eat dinner together and then sit by the tree and listen to Christmas stories. Teddy is looking forward to hanging up his stocking and Phoebe's. He also insisted that Sophie have a stocking over the mantle. She was too kind-hearted to refuse him. To make it a little easier, Dr. Grace went out and got her a stocking to match the other children's.

Like so many other things, her own stocking from years ago is tucked away in storage. It is one of the many things that she can't bear to look at. I know how she feels. After my first husband died, there were so many things I couldn't bear to look at, so many memories that hurt. But as time has gone by, the pain has lessened and now and then, I occasionally look at those reminders of the past that I had carefully stored away. The memories are bittersweet, but they will always be with me.

That was why I was so careful to save all of those things that Sophie might have given or just thrown away. Her mother has collected and saved things for years. There is a beautiful collection of dolls from around the world; each brought back to her by her own father, a navy commander. I preserved these when Sophie would have given them away, not only as a memory of her mother, but of the grandfather that she never knew. I know from experience that such tokens of the past will bring back warm memories for her. I don't want her to regret that she gave them away too quickly.

I insisted on cooking the Christmas Eve dinner myself. To get her out if the living room where she kept looking at the tree with mournful eyes, I had Sophie help me in the kitchen. She loves to cook. It's something that she had never done with her mother, who preferred to serve processed and packaged food. However, Sophie enjoys every little task I give her, whether it is cutting up fruit or vegetables or kneading the dough for bread.

She is very proud, because with my help, she made her very first apple pie from scratch. She patiently cut and stewed down the apples, filled the homemade crust and even decorated the top crust by carving out holly berries and leaves. Then she sat patiently beside the oven watching it bake. It was so heavy that I had to lift it in and out, but everyone came from the living room to see the wonderful pit that they had smelled baking. Sophie flushed from the heat of the stove and the compliments, shyly said that she hoped that it would taste as good as it smelled.

Jason, who tends it be very formal around the Greys, even relaxed a little and took a sniff. Dr. Grace gently teased him and told him that for Christmas he should forget about being the security guard and be the proud papa. That earned her a rare smile from my rather taciturn husband. Jason, however, is struggling through this holiday also.

Despite the fact that he is happy that Sophie is living with us permanently, I know that he still feels guilty that he got sole custody because of his ex-wife's death. He is not even sure of how to behave around Sophie sometimes. He doesn't want her to think that he is glad that Jeannine passed away, but he also wants her to know that he loves her very much and is happy to have her with us always.

While Sophie has been spending time with me in the kitchen, Mr. Carrick has been trying to keep up with Teddy. At first Teddy was grumbling because he had no Uncle Joe or Soo-ee to play with. However, since Mr. Grey had raised two sons of his own, he knew how to appeal to that "boy instinct." At one point, he took Teddy out with Sophie's dog Magic and let the two of them rough house out in the meadow.

Ana's mood has lightened enough that we don't have to beg her to come down for dinner. We sit down at a rather full table that includes, Jason, Sophie, and myself, Carrick and Grace Grey, Dr. Charlotte, Mr. Grey, Ana, and the two conversation flows easily between the adults, with occasional input by Teddy, when he is not painting every nearby surface with mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.

Sophie, always perfectly behaved, gives a good example of "seen by not heard," except when asked a question. Phoebe is seated between Ana and Dr. Grace. Teddy is between his father and Sophie. He was originally supposed to sit next to me, but he very loudly stated his preference for "Soo-ee," and was humored to avoid a temper tantrum. At one point, after he spatters cranberry sauce on her new white blouse, Sophie finally speaks up on her own.

"Teddy," she says severely. "I spent a long time making that cranberry sauce. It didn't come out of a can. Could you please put more of it in your mouth than on me."

Teddy looked back at her with large, blue remorseful eyes.

"Sowwy, Soo-ee," he replies. "I be good. Daddy buy new shirt."

Sophie turns pink at that remark and Mr. Carrick suddenly has a coughing fit. Dr. Grace tries to smooth things over.

"You made the cranberry sauce?" she asks Sophie sweetly. "It's not from a can?"

"We don't cook anything from a can here," Sophie answers politely. "Everything is cooked from fresh vegetables. Even the bread is made from scratch."

"I can tell that even if you can't, Grace," adds Mr. Carrick with a wink. "Where did you learn to be such a good cook, Sophie? I can't wait to taste that apple pie."

"It was Gail who showed how to do everything," she replies. "She's really the good cook."

"Well," comments Mr. Grey. "I believe that she has a very apt student to work with. Ana, do you remember the first time you showed me how to cut up a pepper?"

There is a moment of silence before Ana answers.

"Yes, I do," she replies. "I never saw anyone cut up a pepper so slowly. That's why I bought the paintings of the peppers when we were in France on our honeymoon."

Mr. Grey's face breaks into the first genuine smile that I have seen from him in weeks. There is silence around the table and then Dr. Charlotte speaks.

"Did you buy them in Paris or in the south of France?" she asks.

"The south of France," she replies quietly, but then seems to get lost in thought.

"I'm taking French in school," says Sophie, startling us when she breaks into the silence.

"How do you like it?" asks Dr. Grace.

"I love it," she says. "Someday I want to go to France."

"Well, you won't need to go to cooking school the way that Mia did," answers Mr. Grey. "You have the best cooking teacher right here. But there are lots of other things to see and do. Mia and I both studied French."

"Because I insisted," states Dr. Grace. "Having a second language is a very useful tool in life. And French is such a lovely language."

Now that we are past that one little misstep in the conversation, everyone begins to talk about foreign trips and places that they've always wanted to go. Ana is sitting quietly, listening to every word. She is also eating a little rather than just picking at her food. I notice that she eats all of her cranberries. Occasionally, she reaches over to Phoebe to pat her head and pick up her hand. Phoebe just happily watches the company around her, while Teddy continues to make his mess.

When it is time to clear the table, Dr. Grace and Dr. Charlotte get up to help me. Sophie attempts to also come, but Dr. Grace shoos her back into her seat. Once we are in the kitchen cleaning up, I realize that the two doctors want to conference.

"Why do you think that Ana shut down when I asked about the honeymoon?" asked Dr. Charlotte. "Whenever she has told me about it, she said that it was once if the best times of her life."

"I think that it may have been the timing," explains Dr. Grace. "I am pretty sure that they purchased the paintings towards the end of the honeymoon. It was probably around the time of the fire at Grey House. That really put a damper on things for a while."

"Yes," replies Dr. Charlotte. "Ana told me the whole story about that Jack Hyde character. But she never mentioned that incident as it related to the honeymoon. She only spoke of the break in."

"I don't know," says Dr. Grace. "Perhaps she wants to forget about the overlap."

"That's possible," answers Dr. Charlotte. "But I think that we definitely saw a little improvement tonight. Did you notice that she was actually eating some of the food instead of just picking at it."

"Yes," replies Dr. Grace. "And she was following the conversation and paying attention to Phoebe. She is showing more interest in what is happening around her, even if she is not fully participating."

"Yes, these are all positive signs," she says. "And I am sure that Christian has noticed them too. You will need to remind him that he can't expect any miracles. She has hardly been on the pills for twenty-four hours. This could be a bit of a placebo effect. She expects things to get better so the symptoms dissipate for a while. We wouldn't know for sure about the true efficacy of the medication for at least another week."

"And she hasn't had time to present with any side-effects," adds Dr. Grace. "Still too early for that to happen."

"Gail," says Dr. Charlotte turning to me. "How is little Sophie doing?"

"She's holding up," I say. "Tomorrow will be a little harder than today. I was able to insulate her from the merriment in the living room by having her help me cook today. She will be in here with me tomorrow, but she has told us that she wants no gifts."

"But she will be getting presents?" Dr. Charlotte asks.

"Yes," I reply. "But nothing too extravagant. As usual, Mr. Grey wanted to go over the top, but Jason and I were very firm that he respects her wishes up to a point. He promised to restrain his impulse to buy her lots of stuff because he is grateful of how wonderful that she is with Teddy. Sophie is not a materialistic child anyway, so in wouldn't mean much anyway."

"How should we play out tonight?" asks Dr. Grace.

"I think that you have some good plans," replies Dr. Charlotte. "I will be leaving soon, but if you stick to your game plan of simple holiday traditions and then early bed for the children, you may be able to keep Ana downstairs until the children go up. That would be real progress."

"Well, Christian will probably be up late," grimaced Dr. Grace. "And Carrick. They are both going to set up the extension to the railroad. I will go up and sit with Ana. She doesn't like to be left alone, even when she is sleeping."

"I have noticed that," says Charlotte thoughtfully. "If I am sitting with her and she is dropping off, she always wants to know if I will be there when she wakes up. Has she always been like that?"

"I don't know," replies Dr. Grace.

"No," I answer at the same time.

"Really," comments Dr. Grace. "What can you tell me about that?"

"Well," I say. "First of all, there are times when Mr. Grey has to travel without her. She sleeps alone then and as far a I know has never had a problem. And then there are the nights where she goes to bed first and he is up late working. She does fine by herself then."

"So this is new behavior?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. "I guess that it is. I've just never thought about it like that before."

"What do you think Charlotte?" asks Dr. Grace. "Do you think that she is afraid that she will hurt herself again?"

"I tend to think not," she replies slowly. "I think that it may have to do with some past issue that she's wrestling with right now."

"But you can't tell us what that is," I say.

"No," she replies. "That is covered under patient confidentiality. But it would be good for you to continue to watch for new behaviors, especially since we have started the pills. I have not known her long enough to know what is typical for her and what is abnormal.i will have to rely on you to be my eyes and ears for that."

"We will," promises Dr. Grace. "Now why don't we go back in and bring that scrumptious looking apple pie with us."

When we enter the dining room Mr. Carrick says, "_Finally, _I can't wait to have a piece of that marvelous pie."

"I hope that you won't be disappointed," says Sophie nervously. "It's just a plain, old apple pie."

"No," responds Mr. Carrick. "This pie is special because _you _made it. Wouldn't you agree, Taylor?"

"Absolutely," says Jason. "And it will taste all the more better to me because you made it. Now, if it had been made by Gail, _then _it would be just a plain, old apple pie."

"Daddy!" she says in horror, as I role my eyes. "Everything that Gail makes is special because _she _made it."

I don't know what to say. This is the first time that Sophie had indicated that she feels that I am anything more than a good friend. Of course, I have been very sensitive to the fact that no one, no matter how much she loves her, will ever replace her mother.

"Everything tastes better when it's made with love," says Mr. Grey. "Ana is a wonderful cook too. No offense, Gail, but her meals always taste best to me."

He looks at Ana as if she is the only person in the room. She bows her head and looks up and there are tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry that I haven't cooked much for you lately," she says quietly. "I . . . I haven't been up to it."

"I know, sweetheart," he says soothingly. "I just have to settle or Gail's cooking for now."

"Christian!" declares Ana in outrage.

"It's okay," I say. "I understand. I _think _that he's only teasing."

"He better be," she grumbles.

"Or what?" asks Mr. Carrick playfully.

"I'll think of something," she replies. "But why don't you cut that pie?"

Pleased that Ana has been worked up enough to show a little emotion, I take the hint and begin to slice it up. Everyone insists that Jason take the first piece, which he immediately claims is the best that he ever ate.

"Oh, you're just saying that because you're my Dad," she says quietly.

"Well," says Christian. "Apple pie is my favorite dessert and I say that this is the best that I've ever eaten. And I'm not your father."

"He is a connoisseur," agrees Ana quietly. "No matter how many different things are on the dessert menu, if apple pie is there, he won't eat anything else."

Pleased by the success of her pie, Sophie agrees to stay for the hanging of the stockings and the reading of the stories. At his insistence, she sits beside Teddy in a big armchair. Mr. Grey sits with Ana tucked under his arm, while she holds Phoebe and gives her a bottle. If I didn't know otherwise, I would think that it was a normal Christmas Eve like there are in houses all over the world.

Mr. Carrick reads a couple of Christmas stories in a very calm and soothing once and before we know it, Teddy and Sophie are fast asleep, huddle against one another. Ana's eyes are growing heavy and the baby is sleeping. Rather than disturb them, Grace carries up Phoebe; Mr. Carrick carries up Teddy; and lastly, despite her protests, Mr. Grey carries up Ana.

Jason picks up Sophie and we quietly return to our own apartment. He gently rests her in bed after we take off her shoes. Then, he tucks her in, tenderly brushes her curls back from her forehead, and kisses her good night. Then, I lean over to give her mine own kiss good night.

Then we go into our kitchen and talk for a while over cups of tea.

"That went much better than I thought it would," says Jason. "I will never get used being on 'somewhat equal footing' with my employer, but it is getting easier."

"I know what you mean," I reply. "But it's good not just for the Greys' sake, but for Sophie's sake as well. I think that a smaller, more intimate Christmas with just the three of us might stir up some sad memories. The more different things are, the easier it is."

"Which you know from experience," he says softly.

"Yes," I answer. "And right now I am using that experience to help Sophie get through this first year. After this it will get better."

"Have I told you recently how much I love you?" he asks, looking deeply into my eyes.

"Every day," I reply simply.

"Not every woman would accept her stepdaughter into her life the way that you have," he says. "Now you have always been most kind to Sophie, especially when she came for her extended summer visits. But this is a whole new level of parenting that you didn't sigh on for when we got married. And you are the one who fills in a lot for me when I a, working."

"Well," I say. "It is also a whole level of parenting that I never thought that I would have the chance to experience. I thought that I would never have children. Having Sophie here, in this way, is giving me a second chance to have a child. It's a family that I never thought was possible."

"I think that I am the luckiest man in the world," replies Jason. "Because this is the family that I thought that I lost eight years ago. When I lost Sophie in that wretched custody agreement, it was one of the darkest times of my life."

"When I lost my husband," I say quietly. "It was the darkest time of my life."

"It just goes to show that even the worst things in life can be turned around and made new," he says.

"Especially if they are made with love," I respond.

We sit in silence, each in our own thoughts as the clock ticks toward midnight. At the chime of the clock, Jason leans over and kisses me and says, "Merry Christmas."

When we go over to our room, he looks out the window and notices that the light in the living room is still on.

"Still laying out that new track, I see," he chuckles.

I think about that. I hope that Ana will feel well enough tomorrow to somewhat enjoy the day. Dr. Charlotte's words come back to me about tempering our expectations. But I can't help but hope that her life can turn back towards the light so that she can have a new life, made with love.


	23. Magic (Part 1)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: This is a three-part story about Christmas from three different points of view. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 21: Magic (Part 1)**

When I wake up on Christmas morning, the sun has already risen and is hanging low in the sky. I am glad that I have missed the sunrise and hope that it is a long time before I see another. Just thinking of the last one makes me shiver. Automatically, I look to my right, expecting to see Phoebe in her bassinet. Then I remember that Christian moved her into Teddy's room temporarily when I had my "episode." Since then, my willful son has laid claim to her as his roommate.

I look to my left, expecting to see Christian beside me and he's not there. Involuntarily I cry out, fearful that he has left me, finally having had enough of my moods. But within seconds I am in his arms. He holds me tightly as I break into sobs. Thank you, Lord. He is still here. My rock in the midst of the raging fury of my mind and my shelter from the storm of fear and panic that seize me day after day, he never lets me down.

I do not know what I would do without him. I would never have expected that he could be so patient throughout this whole ordeal. He has brought me the best doctor and nurse. He has rearranged our household to care for our children. He is even handing over more and more control of his life's work to care for me. What have I done to deserve this?

"I'm here, Ana," he murmurs. "I'm here. I just wanted to take a shower so that I would smell fresh as a daisy for Christmas."

Fresh as a daisy? I can't remember my last shower. It's one of those things that Shonda made me do. Shonda. Where is she? Oh, that's right. She is home with her daughters until after New Years. I can't think of what I will do without her. Who's going to yell at me? Who's going to coax me into doing what's best for myself when I don't care? God, I miss her! And damn _I_ smell!

"Well, I hope that you haven't had your shower already," I mutter, now that I have my crying under control. "Because I reek."

"You smell like Ana to me," he says seriously. "It's the most beautiful scent in the world. I would say that you are fragrant, rather than you reek."

"I need to take a shower," I reply. "Without Shonda here to kick my butt it's been a few days."

Christian looks back at me thoughtfully and opens his mouth to speak. But then he closes it and looks at me hesitantly. The look in his lovely, gray eyes is filled longing.

"What?" I ask impatiently.

"Ana," he says quietly. "You can say no to this and I won't be offended, but do you want to take a bath?"

I don't know what to say. I bury my face in his shoulder and start to weep again. A myriad of happy images pass before my eyes as I remember the many baths that we have shared over the years. Does he remember them also?

"Ana," he continues gently. "There are so very few things that I can do to help you. I am sure that you will feel better after you have had a bath or a shower. Why don't we take a shower together if that's easier for you? I can wash your hair for you and then afterwards dry it. You know how I love to dry your beautiful long, brown hair. Please, Ana, let me do this for you."

Once again I am assaulted by a memory of the past. The very thought of it makes me cry harder. This time it is a single memory of how he took me into the shower and helped me wash up after I returned from the hospital after my run in with Hyde. Is this what he wants me to think of? Is he reminding of this tender, caring moment between us? As my mind turns over the possibilities, my sobs finally quiet.

Then I wonder if I could even stand up in the shower by myself long enough to get really clean and wash my hair thoroughly. Whenever Shonda made me shower, she always stood guard in case I fainted or slipped. If I asked him, I am sure that Christian would do the same, but he wants more than that. I finally decide that it would not only be safer for him to help me, it would also satisfy some need that he has to do something for me.

It's not like he hasn't been doing a great deal for me already. But paying for doctors and extra staff is not the same as _actually _doing something tangible. Despite, the fact that I just want to say, "okay, whatever," as if I don't care, I marshal what little energy I can for enthusiasm.

"I would like that," I say carefully. "Can you help me take a shower?"

He looks relieved. I suspect that while I was considering his offer, he thought that I was trying to devise some polite way of declining. He smiles a little, gets up from the bed and holds out his hand. Then I get up and we go to the bathroom.

The first time that Shonda had seen our bathroom, she was stunned by its vast size. There is a large tub and shower, as well as a jacuzzi. Everything is done is tile and stone, with lots of mirrors. Now, I avoid looking into the mirrors because I don't want to see how bad I look.

Just the sound of the hot, steamy water sounds good to me and feels even better as it races over my skin. I can feel my stiff muscles, stiff from lying in bed for so long, loosen. Christian steps in behind me and massages my neck and shoulders. Automatically, I stretch out my neck and roll my head around. After he has worked his way down my back, I feel the soapy sponge running over my skin, as the dead skin cells slough off, I feel and even greater comfort living in my own skin.

After he washes himself, Christian orders me to bend over so that my hair cascades down, almost to the floor, for him to wash. I realize that it has been a long time since I have had it cut, trimmed, and reshaped. As he massages my scalp and runs the shampoo down the long ends, I once again feel that sense of cleansing the oil from my hair and scalp.

He applies conditioner and then washes his own hair while it soaks in. He has me sit down on the side so that he can use both hands and when he is done, he stands me up once more for the final rinse. Then he turns off the water and we step out. After he has wrapped me in my towel he proceeds to quickly dry himself off and throws on a tee shirt and boxers. Then he stands me up and finishes toweling me off, finishing by towel drying my hair and then wrapping the towel around my head like a turban.

All of this time, we have not been conversing, although we have been saying little things like, "oh, that feels good," and "you are so beautiful." I really couldn't think of much to say. I gave myself over to the full sensory experience of heat and massage and cleansing. Yet there was also a very vital aspect to it, feeling that I was cherished. I feel much better physically. Even my mind frame is a a little better, as I look out from my newly freshened skin.

"What would you like to wear?" he asks. "I'm just planning on wearing jeans and a white shirt."

Of course he is. That is his signature outfit and he looks just as good in it as he would in a tux. I am torn. I really want to put on a nightgown or sweats. I intend to spend most of the day in bed anyway, although I will humor everyone by spending some time downstairs. I suppose that he is giving me the choice of those kinds of clothes or perhaps something more like regular clothes, but not dressy. I decide to compromise.

"I guess that I will wear the grey yoga pants with my white oversized sweater," I say.

He goes into my closet to fetch them and returns with the pants I requested and another sweater. He looks at me hesitantly.

"Would you wear this sapphire blue one instead?" he asks. "It brings out your eyes so beautifully."

Once again, I am tempted to respond with a sigh and a "whatever," but I stop myself in time. I know that it is terribly painful for him to watch me make these slow decisions. And I am hardly saying anything. Once again, I call upon what little energy I have left.

"Sure," I say. "I've always liked that sweater."

He smiles as he lays the clothes on the bed and then he sits behind me with the hair dryer. As always, his skillful taming of my wayward hair is a soothing feeling. There is the warmth of the dryer; the feeling of his skilled fingers working their way through the tresses, and finally the soft brush as it works is way from my scalp to the ends of my hair. When he is done, he steps back to admire his handiwork.

"A good job, even if I do say so myself," he says in a satisfied tone.

For a moment, I am transported from my melancholy as I think of how often this scene has played in our lives. I ache from the memory of happier times and wonder if I will ever find my way back to that place again.

"Here," he says. "Let me help you dress."

I really shouldn't need help, except for the fact that the effort of getting up and showering had taken almost all of the strength that I woke up with. As he helps me into my pants and sweater, occasionally he tenderly caresses me. The sensation is soothing, but does nothing to awaken my slumbering libido as it once might have done. When he is finished, he walks me over the full length mirror.

"Look!" he says, proud of his handiwork.

Despite the temptation to close my eyes and walk away, I gaze at my reflection. I don't look nearly as bad as I feel. The sweater hangs a little bit on me and the yoga pants are not as clingy as they should be. But my hair does look lovely as it falls over my shoulders and there is some pink in my cheeks. But my face is a dead give away of my state of mind.

My eyes look somewhat glassy and unfocused, and haunted. There are dark circles underneath. My face is still and unsmiling. Christian may have succeeded in playing Barbie with me on the outside, but the inside is still the same. I could make some improvement with make up, but my skin feels so clean and fresh that I don't want to start clogging up my pores again with artificial enhancement. Christian never likes it when I wear heavy make up anyway.

Then, we hear a pounding on the door and a little voice cries out in indignation, "Mommy! Daddy! Why you lock door?"

"Privacy, little man," says Carrick's voice cheerfully. "Mommy and Daddy need privacy."

"No pwivacy!" retorts Teddy. "Chwismas!"

Christian chuckles and even I have to smile a little.

"Christmas it is!" he calls brightly, and steps over to open the door.

Teddy comes racing in and nearly knocks me over with his hug.

"Mewwy Chwismas, Mommy!" he yells. "Come see twee!"

"You haven't already been downstairs yet?" asks Christian anxiously.

"No, no," Carrick assures him. "But it was all we could do to keep him up here. Grace is taking care of Phoebe and then we can all go down."

For the first time, I notice that Teddy is wearing the Christmas pajamas that I bought for him earlier in the year when I was feeling better. They are red and white in the style of a Santa suit, complete with matching hat. Then Grace comes in with Phoebe who is wearing her green matching pajamas that make her look like a little elf. She also has a hat.

Tears fill my eyes as the memory of ordering the clothing from Wooden Soldier floods my mind. Grace and I had poured over catalogues before Phoebe was born and debated what size to get for the four-month old. Looking at how well the jams fit. I can see that we made the right choice. Suddenly, Teddy tugs at my hand.

"No cwy, Mommy," he says seriously. "Chwismas!"

I realize that I am endangering everyone's happy morning with my slowly descending mood. I take a deep breath, and summoning all my resources, smile. I have a part to play and I am going to do my best to play it well.

Then I say, "Happy tears!"

Teddy's little face breaks in to a large grin.

"Good, Mommy," he says approvingly. "No sad tears."

Because I have been getting teary-eyed so frequently in the last month, Shonda had begun to use the phrase "happy tears" to interpret my emotional outbursts to Ted. She never lied to him. But then again, she didn't have to. There was never any ambiguity for him regarding my tears when I was sad. He just wasn't always sure of when I was happy.

Now he tugs my hand and pulls me towards the door.

"Twee!" he announces.

"Yes, sir!" Christian responds, giving him a sharp salute.

As we make our way towards the stairs, I notice that Carrick is no longer with us. Grace is holding Phoebe and Christian puts his arm around me. When we reach the staircase, I realize where Carrick went.

The living room has been transformed into a child's delight, a virtual wonderland to delight the heart and spirit. The Christmas tree is sparkling with its colored lights, the stockings over the mantle are full to the brim, and, overnight, someone has trimmed the room with garlands of holly. But Teddy's eyes are fixed on the floor.

"Twains!" he says in wonder.

Carrick is standing at the foot of the curving staircase with Christian's Nikon and snaps a picture of the enchanted little fellow. Even though she doesn't understand what it is all about, Phoebe is also staring down. Grace and Christian both have wide grins on their faces and I manage a small smile, hoping that it doesn't look too much like a grimace.

Once again, Christian has outdone himself. The train tracks have expanded to nearly fill the living room. There are hills that have been created and a tunnel. The way is dotted with miniature houses and trees. In addition to his first train, a second is now chasing it around the track. I can see that the engine of the new train has also been fitted with solar panels. The sun is out and gleams through the glass wall. The room has truly acquired a magical quality.

Teddy lets go of my hand and walks down the stairs alone, where his grandfather is waiting for him. Grace follows with Phoebe and Christian leads me down. I notice that there are many gifts under the tree, but then I remember that not all of them are for us. A number of them are for friends and family. Christian leads me to the couch where I sit beside Grace. Phoebe reaches out her little hands for me and Grace reluctantly passes her over.

But this morning belongs to Teddy and Christian. As they go over to inspect the new addition to the already wondrous train set, Christian explains everything in detail. Ted listens to him avidly, absorbing every word. I know that later in the day, he will be giving his own unique version of the explanations to Phoebe, Sophie, and anyone else who will listen. Then Grace gets up and brings me the specially wrapped present from under the tree.

"Phoebe is too small to open it," she says. "Shall I?"

I nod and look down anxiously at the baby as her fingers carefully undo the ribbons. Will Phoebe like her dolly? Will she realize that it is from me? She's only four months. Will she even be interested?

But Phoebe has been watching everything that Grace does very carefully. She is completely ignoring her father and brother as they share the train gift. I look down at her and think that this is our special moment together. When the wrapping is off, Grace opens the box and pulls apart the layers of tissue.

There she is! Alessandra is nestled between the folds of tissue with her eyes closed. I lift her out and as I turn her upright, her bright blue eyes pop open. Phoebe responds with a giggle of surprise. Then she reaches out her chubby little hand and touches the dress. She looks up at me with the same expression of wonder that that Teddy just had on his face a few moments ago when he saw his new "twains." I hear the click of the camera as Carrick records the expression for posterity.

"This is Alessandra, Phoebe," I introduce her to my daughter. "She is your little baby to take care of."

I then bring the doll closer and Phoebe grabs her. As if she understands what I mean, she hugs her to her little chest and coos a little.

"What Fee-bee got?" Teddy's voice interrupts the moment.

"It's a dolly," replies Grace. "You have trains for Christmas and Phoebe has a dolly."

"Oh," says Teddy. "Twains are better for Teddy."

"Why is that?" asks Carrick in amusement.

"Cause twains go awound and awound!" he cries joyfully. "Dolly no go."

"No," agrees Carrick. "Dolly no go."

But the fact that the dolly doesn't move, in no way bothers Phoebe. She holds onto the dolly tight and looks around at us all. She has no words, but the look on her face makes me think that if she could talk, she would tell Teddy to go play with his "twains" and leave her alone with her dolly. Teddy must sense the same thing because he shrugs and turns back to his own toy.

"Why don't we have breakfast?" suggests Grace.

"Gail won't be coming over this morning," comments Christian. "She, Taylor, and Sophie won't be coming over until later."

Grace cheerfully rolls her eyes.

"I do not need Gail to make me breakfast," she says emphatically. "You are too spoiled, son. I will go and make pancakes and bacon."

"Pancakes!" cries Teddy in delight, before he turns back to his trains.

"Pancakes it is," replies Grace, and she goes into the kitchen.

"I'll go help her," says Carrick, as he follows her.

Suddenly, the four of us are left alone. Phoebe makes soft, little noises and clutches her dolly. Teddy is sitting in the middle of the track, twisting and turning as the two trains roll by him. Christian sits down beside me, puts his arm around my shoulders and kisses my head."

"Happy?" he asks hopefully, with a little smile.

I am afraid to disappoint him, but I am not happy. I am not miserable, so that is progress, but I know that he won't like that answer. On the other hand, if I tell him the truth, then he won't like that either. I am much less concerned about my own happiness than I am about his. I really wish that he wouldn't measure his own happiness with mine, but I know that he can't help it. It's what we have become.

We are closer than I had ever imagined that two people could be. If I thought that it would do any good to try and push him away and let him find his happiness elsewhere, I would do it. But I can't. Even though I wake up and worry when he's not physically present with me, he is never far away.

And while I sometimes think that it would be best for him and the children to leave me, I can't really bear the thought. If I often feel that I have nothing left to live for, I would have less than nothing if they were gone. That is if there is such a thing as less than nothing.

But as I am ruminating, Christian's lovely face loses its hopeful look and his smile gradually dims. He knows that if I was truly happy that I would have answered him immediately. The fact that I have to think about my answer is a clear indication that the answer is no.

"You don't have to answer that," he says softly.

"I'm sorry," I reply weakly. "I want so badly to say yes, but I don't want to lie."

"I don't want you to lie," he says quietly. "I always want you to tell me the truth. I don't want you to think that I expect you to lie to save my feelings."

"I know," I say. "But I'm still sorry."

"I am also sorry," he says, looking at me closely. "I am sorry that I can't make you happy. I guess that right now I can just hope that you are a little less unhappy."

"I am," I say. "A little less miserable. But considering how miserable I have been, that doesn't even bring me close to happy."

Christian closes his eyes and I can't tell what he is thinking. Then Carrick comes into the room and announces, "Breakfast is served!"

"Pancakes!" yells Teddy, as he bounds out of the room.

Carrick and Grace have set the table beautifully, using one the the several Christmas settings that we own. This one is decorated with Santa Claus and his reindeer. But Teddy is not the least bit interested in the pictures on the plates.

"Pancake man!" he says happily.

Grace has made his pancake in the shape of a little man, complete with a head, arms, and legs. She has also used chocolate chips to create eyes, nose, and a mouth. Before Teddy can destroy this work of art, Carrick takes a picture of it with the camera. But no sooner has the shutter clicked than Ted is attacking the head and the chocolate chips. Because of the warmth of the pancake, the chips are half-melted, and before we know it, his face is covered in chocolate. He grins up at Carrick who takes another picture.

I do my best to eat a little, but I barely manage one pancake. I know that Grace will scold me if I don't put something in my stomach before I take my pill. The others eat heartily. Since Phoebe is due for another bottle, I feed her as they enjoy Grace's breakfast and tell stories of Christmases past in the Grey household. Now that he had massacred his pancake man beyond recognition, Teddy listens eagerly.

"Daddy get twains for Chwismas?" he asks.

"Yes," answers Christian. "But my favorite toy was a helicopter."

"Helitopter," Teddy tests the word.

"Yes, son," he says. "I remember that for my first Christmas I got a helicopter that was able to fly all over the house."

"I'm not surprised that was your favorite gift," replies Carrick. "After all, the first 'toy' that you bought yourself with your millions was _Charlie Tango._"

"Daddy helitopter," says Teddy. "Fly to sky!"

"Had Teddy ever been up in _Charlie Tango?" _asks Grace.

"No, I haven't had a reason to take him up," answers Christian. "He has been on the jet of course."

"Do you remember the Christmas that we took you all to Hawaii?" asks Carrick suddenly, a mischievous look on his face.

"That's one that I have tried to forget," Christian grimaces.

"Why?" I ask, not remembering if he has told me about it.

"Haven't you told Ana the story?" asks Carrick.

"No," replies Christian. "It's part of the fact that I have been trying to forget that one."

"Well," says Grace. "I think that we should let her in on this little bit of family folklore."

"Oh, brother," mutters Christian, turning a little pink.

"Lets see," says Carrick. "It was the year that Elliot was fourteen, Christian was twelve, and Mia was six. Elliot wanted to learn how to surf. Since he had already gone through that early teen growth spurt, he was a large, husky kid, about six feet at that point. But Christian hadn't experienced that same spurt, so he was about four-foot-ten."

I tried to picture that. Although Elliot was still big and brawny, Christian was taller and leaner. I had never thought much about boys and how they grew, but looking back on my middle school years, I realize that at that time the boys all seemed to come in two sizes, small and extra large.

"Well, we knew that Christian would be tall someday," put in Grace. "He had rather large feet and I knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before he grew into them. Although at that point, they did make him somewhat awkward and clumsy."

"I'm not hearing this," says Christian, closing his eyes.

"Me hear!" says Teddy eagerly.

"Anyway, to make a long story short, Elliot decided that he wanted to have surfing lessons," says Carrick. "So looking at his size and strength, we figured, why not? However, whatever his older brother did, Christian wanted to do. After much whining and complaining about the injustice of the situation, Christian got his way.

"The boys took lessons together, although Elliot was not pleased that Christian was doing something that he had not been allowed to do when he was younger. And Christian, courtesy of his outsized feet, had better balance on his board. Then Elliot noticed that Christian's board was shorter than his. He dared him to take out the longer board."

"Oh, dear," I say involuntarily.

"Yes," says Grace. "I will spare you the gory details, but Christian ended up in the emergency room in Honolulu getting twelve stitches where the board cut his head when it flipped on him."

"But that's not the end of the story," says Carrick grinning.

"It could be," interrupts Christian.

"No, Christian," he says. "I might as well finish it. You know that Mia and Elliot will only finish it for her if we ask."

"Go on," he replies.

"Well, naturally," he continues. "No family drama could go on without Mia placing herself in the middle of it. She always preferred Christian to Elliot so she was quite put out by the whole thing. And she wasn't sure of which she was angrier at, Elliot for making the dare, or Christian for taking him up on it. She finally decided that it was Elliot's fault and that she would take revenge on Christian's behalf.

"Whenever we went to the beach, Elliot had to take more care of the than Christian because of his greater chances of a sunburn. However, in a place like Hawaii, it is so close to the equator that anyone can get burned. Mia replaced the suntan oil in Elliot's bottle with baby oil. Both boys used it and both ended up with such terrible burns that they couldn't go to the beach for the rest of the trip. And they were stuck in bed, together, for the first day because the burn on their shoulders had blistered."

"I hope that you punished Mia," I say.

Carrick and Grace look at each other.

"We actually never knew what the cause of those miserable burns were," she replies. "Until about six years later when Mia learned in health class about the dangers of severe sunburns and skin cancer. Mia being Mia, she came home hysterical that she had all but killed her brothers. That was when she finally confessed."

"It is still the most miserable Christmas in my memory," states Christian. "I don't know why it still comes up."

"Fair is fair," replies Carrick. "I will be sure to tell Kate the story when we finally see them."

For a moment, I feel guilty because I am keeping them away from Ava on her first Christmas, but then I remember that they are spending the holiday with Kate's family. It was their turn, but I know that Kate would have thought up a reason for them to be with her parents anyway. Then, I wondered about Ethan and Mia.

"Has Ethan finally popped the question?" I ask. "Officially."

"He did last night," confirms Grace. "She called me up this morning to tell me all about it. The ring is stunning. He had his grandmother's ring refurbished and resized. It is an amazing emerald surrounded by small diamonds. He hung it from the Christmas tree at home and led her over to the right spot where she could see it. Once she realized what it was, he got down on one knee and proposed."

"Well, he had to do that," commented Christian. "Both Elliot and I did, so there was no way that he was getting off the hook. Was Mia sufficiently pleased with the romantic quality of the proposal?"

"Yes," answers Grace. "And she has already announced that she is having a Christmas wedding so that he won't forget the date of their anniversary."

"As if she would let him forget," says Christian wryly.

"And she wants Teddy to be the ring bearer," she adds in amusement.

We all look at the boy himself, cheerfully tearing the remains of his pancake into little bits and tossing them off the table and onto the plastic sheet that always cover the look beneath him when he eats.

"He'll be a year older," I say doubtfully.

"So will Ava and Phoebe," Grace reminds us.

"She's got to be kidding!" says Christian.

"No way," answers Grace with a smile. "Flower girls. And it had to both so that no one think that she is playing favorites."

"What is she planning? A three-ring circus?"

"Something like," answers Carrick. "She's been waiting for this moment for three years. That's a long time, for someone like her to plan the wedding of her dreams."

Then Christian laughs out loud.

"Maybe we should remind her about W.C. Fields' famous quote," he says.

"The one about never working with children or animals?" asks Carrick, now joining in.

Grace shakes her head.

"As if Mia would ever let anyone steak her spotlight at her wedding," she states with certainty.

"Then I can think of three little people that she should keep out if it," answers Christian.

Around me, Christian, Grace, and Carrick are laughing. I know that they are trying to keep the atmosphere cheerful for me. I even manage a smile so that they can think that they are succeeding. But their good humor almost makes it more difficult for me. I am tired and just want to go back to bed.

All of this playacting has been exhausting. I figure that it is better for me to make my exit while there is a semblance of that elusive happiness in my expression. It is late morning now and I know that the Taylors will be over in a few hours. A brief nap will hopefully rejuvenate me enough that I don't spoil things for them too.

I know that they want to keep things low key for Sophie's sake, but they don't need my gloomy outlook to drag her down any farther. Phoebe is also looking sleepy from all of the excitement. I stand up to leave.

"I think that Phoebe and I could use a nap," I say, as if it was entirely normal for me I sleep at this time of day.

The others look at each other, but Grace takes the lead.

"Boys," she says to Christian and Carrick. "Why don't you clean up the mess while I settle Ana in."

Christian looks like he wants to protest. He is perfectly capable of cleaning up, but he doesn't like doing it himself since that is something that he usually hires others to do for him. But Carrick claps him on the shoulder and enthusiastically insists that they follow "orders." He is enjoying every minute of his son's discomfort. Reluctantly, Christian takes Teddy's plate away from him and begins to roll up the debris in the plastic sheet.

Grace leads me upstairs. We change Phoebe's diaper and get ready to put her in the bassinet.

"I really wish that she was still sleeping in my room," I say wistfully.

"Well, there's no reason why she can't," says Grace firmly. "You know you don't have to give in to Teddy's every whim. Do you want him to turn out like, say . . . Mia?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Is that how that happened?" I ask.

"Pretty much," she replies. "She was our precious baby girl. None of us could ever say no to her. Elliot tried, but he didn't get very far because Christian always took her side. It's healthy to say no to a child every once in a while. Because of his own early years, Christian will always be inclined to spoil the children. You are going to have to put your foot down sometimes."

She is so earnest that I don't have the heart to tell her that I just don't have the emotional strength to stand up to my willful son either. But I don't object to moving Phoebe back into my room. We place the bassinet right beside the bed so that I can look in and see her sleeping.

"When she's older, she can sleep with her dolly," Grace murmurs. "Right now, I'll set her on the dresser where you can both see her."

I hadn't even realized that Grace had picked up the dolly when we were on our way up. Like so many other times, Grace quietly anticipates a need and takes care of it. Then she settles herself into the rocking chair.

"Would you like it if I stayed with you for a while?" she asks.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" I ask.

"Of course, dear," she says quietly, but I pick up a note of distress in her voice.

I am not sure of why she should be concerned. I do prefer it if someone is with my while I sleep. Phoebe doesn't count because she is even more helpless than I am. I don't even know what I am afraid of. I know that I couldn't be safer. Sawyer is never far from me and I know that he will always protect me. I don't even know from what.

But it has felt like a long morning. I hope that the others all had a good morning. I suppose that it was better than I thought that it could be. Teddy was happy and Phoebe, even though I thought that she would be too young, really liked her dolly. Christian was pleased by the joy that the trains brought Teddy. And Carrick took lots of pictures. I am glad that he did.

Phoebe and Teddy are so young that they will never remember today. Hopefully, when they look back on the pictures when they are older, they will form memories of a happy family time, untainted by my mood. I hope that Carrick hasn't taken any pictures of me. That is one memory that my children do not need to form. I prefer to let the illusion of magic prevail.


	24. Magic (Part 2)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 21: Magic (Part 2) **

After Ana and Mother go upstairs, I look my father in the eye. It appears that he is enjoying a private joke at my expense. I look over at Teddy and see that he needs to be bathed and changed.

"You have two choices," says Carrick with no small amount of amusement in his voice. "You can either clean up your son over there, or do the dishes."

Both options are unpleasant. If I choose cleaning up my son, then I will need to get changed. He is a complete mess of chocolate and pancake. This is what I hire Gail for. And I have always hated doing the dishes unless I was doing it with Ana. I am starting to become pissed at Charlotte who persuaded me that there should be no one but family in the house today. And today, the Taylors are counted as family.

"Flip a coin?" he asks.

"What do _you _want to do?" I ask in return, hoping that it will make up my mind.

He looks over at Teddy, who is now watching us intently.

"I prefer kitchen duty," he says honestly.

"Okay," I say reluctantly, thinking to myself that at least I have a large supply of clean white shirts.

When I go over and pick up Ted, the first thing that he does is wipe his hands on my shirt. I grimace, while my father smirks.

"What?"

"You clearly have very little experience with Daddy duty," he snickers. "Anyone else would have wiped his face and hands clean _before _he picked up."

"Har, har," I reply darkly and then immediately change my tone. "Okay Ted, time to clean up!"

"Twains!" responds the little monster.

"No, clean up!" I declare firmly, and hoist him over my shoulder.

He begins to holler before we reach the stairs and since I don't want him to disturb Ana or Phoebe, I give him a pop on the bottom. Normally, this elicits very little response, but his training pants are not as thick as his diapers were and he howls his displeasure.

"Did that hurt?" I ask.

"Onwy my fee-yings," he replies.

I roll my eyes. Now where the hell did he hear that one?

"Good!" I say my temporary guilt assuaged. "Now be quiet and don't wake up Mommy and Phoebe."

"My Fee-bee," he says in satisfaction.

I take him directly to the bathroom where I quickly hose him off, clothes and all, with the handheld showerhead, mumbling that this is the greatest invention since sliced bread. Teddy giggles at his soaking clothes, which I then peel off and toss in the hamper, and then rub him dry with a towel. After he is sufficiently dry, I wrap him in the towel and return to his room, where someone, probably Mother, has laid out his Christmas suit. His good mood immediately turns foul when he registers the fact that Phoebe's bassinet is no longer there.

"My Fee-bee!" he says insistently and somewhat loudly.

I hear a little squawk of protest from the bedroom and stand very still, hoping that he hasn't woken up his sister. Silence follows but Mother comes into the room breathing fire. Oh no, Teddy, you have awakened the sleeping dragon. This is how she used to appear when we had committed some misdemeanor back in the old days.

"Young man!" she says in a menacing, but hushed voice. "You will not wake your sister."

He looks at her only slightly taken aback.

"My Fee-bee!" he whispers.

"No," she says firmly. "Phoebe is still little enough that she needs to sleep in her mother's bedroom."

"No Mommy milk," he replies, almost insolently.

Boy, is he in trouble now!

"This is not about Mommy milk," she says. "Phoebe still needs her Mommy and Daddy if she wakes up in the night, would you be able to go downstairs and get her bottle?"

He actually contemplates her words. It is almost amusing to watch his little mind working to look for a solution to this dilemma. He finally gives up.

"Okay, Gramma," he says contritely. "You win!"

She leaves before she can burst out laughing. I turn my attention back to my son, who is looking at her with a puzzled expression. No doubt about it, he noticed her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughs also.

"Let me tell you a secret, buddy," I whisper. "Gramma always wins. And if you don't believe me, just ask Grampa."

Once again, he is thoughtful, but I can tell that his eyes are growing heavy. It's a little early for his nap, but if I take him back downstairs, he will only get cranked up again by the trains. He's had an exciting morning and if he doesn't take a proper nap, it is likely that he will be hell on wheels by the afternoon.

He doesn't object when I put him down in his crib and before I know it, he is sound asleep. He looks quite large in it. It's only a matter of time before he will need a big boy bed. I grimace at the thought that he will now have a new way of invading our privacy. However, Mother has warned us that won't be long before he can climb out of the crib himself.

I peek into my room and see Ana huddled in a little ball on the bed and Phoebe's bassinet is flush up against her side. Mother puts a finger to her lips and shoos me away, but first I grab a clean shirt. After I change, I return downstairs, hoping that Dad has finished with the dishes. But no such luck, he hands me a dishtowel when I enter the kitchen.

"I've done the hard work," he says with a smile. "You can help dry."

Oh, well, that's not so bad. I have often dried the dishes for Ana when Gail was off duty. That was, when Ana was well enough to cook for us and do the dishes. She is a marvelous cook. I realize how much I miss her cooking.

Dad notices the change in my facial expression and asks, "What?"

"It's been a long time since I've dried dishes," I admit, picking up the frying pan. "Whenever Gail is off, Ana does the cooking and I help her clean up. She's a great cook, you know. I miss it."

Dad loses the teasing grin on his face and picks up a couple of utensils.

"I know how hard it is, son," he says, kindly. "This will pass."

We continue to dry the dishes in silence. There is a part of me that doesn't want to talk about it. There is another part that wants to yell at him that he couldn't possibly know how I feel right now. And there is a third part of me that wishes that he would just go away and let me finish alone.

However, he stays through to the bitter end and then follows me into my office. I am annoyed and am just about to tell him to get out when he sits down and looks at me with great compassion.

"I know that you don't believe me," he says quietly. "But I really do know what you're going through. I have been there and I wouldn't want to go back to it for a million dollars."

"I don't see how . . . " I start, but he interrupts me.

"Grace told me that she told you how she was depressed after she learned that she could not have children," he says simply. "She has told you her side of it. I think that I should tell you mine. Without a doubt, it was the lowest point in my life."

"You have my attention," I reply, as I sit down.

"As you have discovered, depression, regardless of its nature, affects not only the patient, but also her family and friends," he says. "Grace probably downplayed how bad it was for her, but it was pretty bad. There were days that she wouldn't get out of bed. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't bathe. And she slept dreadfully; and as a result, so did I. For a while, I contemplated moving into another bedroom just so that I could keep functioning. But I couldn't do it."

"Neither can I," I whisper.

"We were comfortably well off financially," he continues. "But I had nowhere near your financial resources and influence. We were at the mercy of the insurance company and our personal savings. Even though insurance benefits were much more generous back then, there was less of an acknowledgement of the validity of psychiatric illness. Each aspect of treatment required a new roll of red tape to get through.

"We were lucky. She had a wonderful doctor with an excellent pharmacological background, and the tenacity to pursue every treatment option available at that time. She found the right pill, and then through talk therapy, Grace finally found her way back to me. But for a while, I thought that I had really lost her."

"It's hard to imagine Mother like that," I say. "She has always been so strong. She saved me."

"Yes, that was the Grace that you knew," he replies. "What really made the difference however, was when I finally convinced her that we should adopt. I would like to take full credit for her recovery, but I can't. She wouldn't have finally come around without you and Elliot."

"How so?" I ask. "I mean we weren't her biological children. We weren't even babies."

"No," he answers. "But you both, each in your own way, did something for her. One aspect of her depression was a feeling that she somehow deserved this bad piece of luck. Another was that she couldn't see a reason to go on. And a third aspect was the way that she believed that she disappointed me."

"Were you disappointed?" I ask.

"Of course," he says. "Anyone would be, who wanted a family as much as I did. I guess I didn't fall into a depression like she did because I never thought that it was my fault. It also wasn't in my nature to feel a though I was somehow cheated by fate. And I loved her with all my heart. Even if we hadn't adopted, I would still have been happy with her as my wife. I could not then, nor can I now, ever envision a life without Grace."

"That's how I feel about Ana," I whisper.

"Yes," he replies. "I know. You are every bit as gentle, kind, and caring with her as I was with Grace. That is why I am telling you this. I felt very alone back in those days. No one I knew had ever had to live with this, or at least they never admitted to. If you think that the stigma of mental health problems is bad now, you should see what it was like thirty years ago.

"I want you to know that I am here for you in the same way that Grace is here for Ana. We have walked this road and we know how lonely it is. But I will not let you travel this sad and painful journey alone. You're stuck with me, son. No matter what it takes, your mother and I are determined that you also will both find your way out of this dark night."

I am silent. It is still difficult to imagine that my parents had once been through this living hell. I cannot believe that my calm and steady mother had ever been as badly off as Ana.

"Tell me, Dad," I finally ask. "How did Elliot and I help?"

"Well, Elliot came first," he replies. "Despite the fact that he was angry and confused when we first got him, it was not long before he blossomed under our love and care. Even then, he had that optimistic and sunny personality. And he never failed to keep us laughing with his antics."

"But I was different," I comment.

"Very," he agrees. "You very clearly _needed _us in a way that Elliot had not. From the moment you looked up at Grace in the emergency room with something akin to trust, she was determined to bring you home. You had just come out of a hellish situation and she wanted to give you the life that she knew you deserved. You, more so than Elliot, returned to her that sense that there was a purpose to her life."

"But Elliot must have given that to her also," I object.

"Yes, but I a different way," he explains. "Elliot had a natural resilience. Whoever his birth parents were they had done an excellent job raising him to be a strong and secure person. He lost that for a while, but he quickly recovered it. You were helpless, almost as helpless as a newborn baby, emotionally that is. You had grown up in a totally unhealthy environment.

"You were literally starving when the police found you and barely able to communicate. Your eyes were filled with pain and you were terrified of being touched. Elliot had always been generous with his hugs and kisses. That was how he had been brought up. You had clearly been physically abused.

"That was probably why Elena was able to seduce you into her perverted lifestyle. It was what you knew. You felt unworthy of love and no matter how much she beat and humiliated you, you accepted it as the price for some sense of wellbeing."

"She told me that without her," I say. "I would have ended up like my mother."

"I refuse to believe that," he replies, shaking his head. "That particular lie served her needs much more than yours. I would answer that with, which mother did she mean? Was it the mother who gave birth to you, or the mother who gave you life?

"I do believe that you are very much like Grace in your compassion for others, your determination to make a positive difference in the world with your wealth, and your unfailing love for your wife. Yes, Christian, you have turned out like your mother. Your similarity to Grace is one of the many things that I love about you."

"You've never said that to me before, Dad," I say.

"Perhaps, I never entirely realized in before," he muses. "I have been thinking a lot about you recently. I am incredibly proud of your love and devotion to Ana. And I know that being faithful under these circumstances cannot be easy. I mean, there must be temptations."

"Well," I admit. "It is difficult, but not in the way that you mean. I have had offers of 'comfort,' shall we say, from some of the women around me. And if they work for me, it takes a great deal of self-restraint, not to mention pressure from Ros, to keep myself from firing their asses on the spot. The same is true for some of the women who I come in contact with for business purposes. In fact, I nearly blew a deal last week when some cheap broad made a pass at me. I was lucky that I had Andrea to smooth things over for me."

"You're right, Christian," he says with a smile. "That's not what I thought. And I do admire your self-control."

"Haven't you ever fallen off the wagon, so to speak?" I ask.

"Never," he replies firmly. "I never even considered it. It's not just because I would have felt guilty as hell either. I never had the slightest interest in any woman other than Grace."

"That's how it is for me with Ana," I say. "I can't dream of being with anyone other than her like that. She's it. She's the only one."

"I know," he says. "I could tell that the first time that you brought her home. Even then it was clear to me that there would never be another woman for you."

"How did you know?" I ask, curiously.

"I recognized the symptoms," he replies.

I take a deep breath and ask him to leave me alone for a while. He has just given me a great deal to think about.

"By the way," he says, before he leaves. "I can also see how much Teddy takes after you. That kid is going to give you a run for your money."

"Good thing I have a lot of money," I mutter.

Carrick laughs as he walks out. I close the door behind him so that I can think alone while there is a lull in the activity. I wouldn't really call them festivities because, with the exception of Teddy, none of us are feeling especially festive right now. What does Ana say about Shonda? She keeps things real? Well, I guess that's what old Ted is doing for us today, even if he has no idea of what Christmas is really all about.

I think about what Dad said to me about remaining celibate for as long as Ana is ill. I actually do have practice with that, from back in the days when I would be away from Elena for months at a time while I was at Harvard. Of course, then it wasn't really all that difficult either. And not just because she would have whipped my ass until it was bleeding. I didn't want anyone else.

But that is where the similarity ends. Elena was like a hit of crack-cocaine for me, a need that was sick and harmful to me. Ironic, isn't it? Elena herself nearly turned me into Ella. But my need for Ana transcends the physical. She was the first woman that I had ever made love to. Our love added a dimension to our physical relationship that I never knew could have existed.

Of course watching the love between Grace and Carrick while I was growing up hinted that such a relationship was possible. The question was, could I ever be worthy of such love? As it was, I struggled with the idea that they, Elliot, and Mia could love me like that. And then there was the companion question. Did I even have the capacity to return such a love? Even as I doubted, Ana remained steadfast in her belief that I was.

Since I have opened myself up to this love and dared to respond with equal devotion. I really do have no use for these women and their ridiculous come ons. Ros scolded me last week that they had always been there, but I didn't notice them until Ana became sick. Even she asked me if I was tempted, if that was what irritated me so much.

"You can't be tempted by what you don't want," I had growled back at. "Now lay off."

"Down, boy, down," she said. "I understand. That's the way I feel when some woman makes a pass at me. I think, yeah right, as if there was any way that you could possibly measure up to Gwen."

"Women make passes at you?" I asked surprised. "It's not just men?"

She laughed her husky laugh that reminded me that I was due to nag her to quit smoking.

"No offense, Christian," she replied. "But you must have the worst sense of 'gay-dar' that I have ever seen. Do you even know that men make passes at _you _all the time?"

I turned a little pink.

"No, I never noticed," I said, for some reason feeling uncomfortable.

"It's a professional hazard when you look as good as you do," she said. "Now, the happily married man thing has pretty much cooled it off for the guys, but for the women you have become an even greater challenge."

"Don't they have lives?" I muttered.

"Sure they do," she answered with a grin. "Real lives and fantasy lives. You, my good friend are part of the fantasy. Every woman's wet dream so to speak."

"I've heard enough," I finally roared back. "Get the hell out of here before I fire _your _ass!"

"Not likely," she smirked. "You don't know what you would without me."

Even now I shudder at the thought of that conversation. Even Flynn wouldn't dare to say some of the things to me that Ros does and get away with it. But, come to think of it, if he pissed me off enough, I know that I could fire Flynn. Ros on the other hand, _she _is indispensable.

All of the sudden the sound of the door opening breaks into my weird reverie.

"Do you mind if I come?" asks Ana shyly.

"No, of course not," I reply, bringing my head back to the real world. "If I knew you were up I would have come out."

"I just got up," she answers. "I kind of missed you."

I open up my arms, and after a moment's hesitation, she climbs into my lap. After she curls up, she gives a little sigh.

"This is where I always feel safe," she says.

"Then this is where you belong," I reply. "Now and forever."

We sit still for a few moments.

"The Taylors will be here soon," she says. "We should probably go out to the living room. Grace is holding Phoebe and Carrick is playing trains with Teddy. I think that they are enjoying their grandparent time."

"I know they are," I reply. "And to think that they almost didn't get it."

"What are you talking about?" she asks puzzled.

"Well," I answer. "If they hadn't adopted me a their son, then they wouldn't have Ted and Phoebe to play with now. In fact, we would probably never have met. Then there wouldn't be a Teddy and Phoebe."

"Grace has been talking to you too?"

"And Carrick has," I say honestly. "They are both determined to see us through this. They know where we are. I guess they are kind of like guides leading us back."

She is silent for a minute.

"I never looked at it that way," she says slowly. "I mean Grace has always been so supportive and loving. And recently I have thought of Shonda and Charlotte as my guides back."

"I hate to admit it," I grimace. "But I miss Shonda."

"So does Teddy," she replies. "When he woke up from his nap, he was asking for Auntie Shonda."

"That's interesting," I say noncommittally.

"Grace said that he likes her because she gives him boundaries," she says. "She thinks that we are spoiling him and that if we aren't careful that he will end up like Mia."

"Well, yes and no," I reply. "There are some things about Mia that could not be replicated in any other human being, luckily."

We hear the doorbell chime and the sound of Dad letting in the Taylors.

Without thinking, I say, "Show time!"

Ana sighs.

"Not really, I think that the Taylors are the only people besides your parents that we don't have to act around."

"True," I agree. "Is Charlotte coming over today?"

"Not unless I need her," she says. "She told me that it would feel more like a holiday if I didn't have my doctor hanging around. She's on call of course, but she really wants me to try to do this on my own."

"You don't have to do it on your own," I say softly. "You have me to help you every step of the way."

Tears fill her eyes.

"What did I do to deserve you?" she asks.

"I could ask the same question," I answer lightly. "And I do, all the time. Why don't we accept the fact that we deserve each other and move on?"

She gives me a faint smile, but the tender moment is broken by the sound of a deep bark, followed by a squeal of delight.

"Don't tell me that it's . . . " I can't finish my sentence.

"Magic," she finishes. "Please, I gave Sophie permission to bring him over. It seemed little enough to do for the poor child. She's walking a hard road now too."

I take a deep cleansing breath. I really do not like the idea of animals in the house, especially that large, rambunctious Lab, who is little more than an overgrown puppy. If it were for anyone other than Sophie, the answer would have been a definite no. So I guess that I can live with the dog in the house for a few hours. The housekeeper coming tomorrow can do a thorough cleaning. I cringe at the thought of all of our lovely, white furniture covered in black dog hair.

As we enter the living room, Teddy is trying to climb on the back of a very patient Magic, who looks like he is undergoing some kind of toddler torture.

"Look, Daddy!" he cries. "Ma-yick!"

"Yes, indeed," I say. "Magic!"

"Want doggy, Daddy!" demands Teddy. "Want _my _doggy!"

"No!" Ana and I both say together.

Teddy looks downcast, but Grace looks a bit triumphant.

"See?" she says, her voice filled with mirth. "It really is very easy to say no, to Teddy when you need to."

Everyone laughs except Teddy. And for just a moment it feels like we are any other family enjoying Christmas together. It's almost like its . . . Magic.


	25. Magic (Part 3)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Thank you to the reader who pointed out that Seattle no longer has its own basketball team. Normally, I don't like to be so sloppy in my research. I have modified the story to reflect this.**

**Chapter 21: Magic (Part 3)**

I don't know if I will ever get used to socializing with Grey and his family. Gail and Sophie don't think twice about it, which is good. I can see for myself how good this has been for Sophie. She always seems to be in a better mood when she is here. But I guess that I feel like an enlisted man visiting the house of his commanding officer. And I can never put down my role as guardian. It is difficult to sit still and make pleasant conversation when I really want to be in my office monitoring the security cameras.

Presently, Ryan is in there. Sawyer is lurking somewhere nearby here in the house. It is a relief that Ana has no objections whatsoever to his role as close protection. But the security challenges never end. Since the breach by Ms. Kavanagh a while back, we have begun constructing a small, inconspicuous gatehouse out front. If she could get in, anyone could and there is no way that I am going to let that happen.

When it is complete, it will be staffed twenty-four seven. In order not to freak out the neighbors, the outpost will be inside of the walls. Anyone who wishes to enter that does not have the code will have to show ID to verify who they are before the guard will open the gate for them. The sentry on duty will have a daily list of expected visitors. But anyone who is not on that list or the official "guest list" will not enter without my approval. And if I'm not available by cell phone, tough. No one is going to talk their way while I'm in charge.

For once, I have not had to deal with accusations of paranoia. We all cringe to think what would happen if the press got wind of Ana's present health issues. Even now as I look out at the Sound through the glass wall, I am thinking about ways to secure the waterfront. My latest idea is the least inoffensive to Grey.

He wants to build a boathouse anyway. I would like to turn the second floor into another command center with twenty-four seven coverage. We could unobtrusively put in security cameras guarding the shoreline, in case any "unfriendlies" decide to breach the perimeter in that direction. Grey makes fun of me whenever I use the terms of military security. But in my head, I am free to think anyway that I want.

Suddenly someone sits down beside me.

"Still working on it," comments Carrick Grey. "Always thinking of bigger and better ways to secure the property. This isn't the Green Zone, you know."

I can see that he's laughing at me.

"Not even close," I reply. "But you can't fault me for doing my job."

"Yes I can," he says. "Today you're off the hook. Why can't you just relax and enjoy yourself like your wife and daughter?"

I look over at my daughter, who is leaning on her dog Magic as if he were a pillow as she listens patiently to Teddy explain the finer points of his railway extension. Gail is chatting away with Grace Trevelyan as if they are old friends. Well, since they collaborated with Ana to help her have a little fun during Teddy's pregnancy, they have certainly gotten closer.

For today, Carrick and Grace have insisted that we address them by their first names. I can't bring myself to address Grey that way, but then again, he never calls me anything but Taylor. Okay, _sometimes _he calls me Jason, but I prefer it this way and he respects that.

Gail is presently holding baby Phoebe on her lap, who is hanging onto the doll that Ana gave her. Despite their obvious affluence, they have limited the gifts for the children to one a piece. Of course, the railroad extension cost a couple of thousand. I'm glad that Ana doesn't want the playroom cluttered up with a lot of stuff that the children never look at. Of course once the whole set up is moved back in there, chances are that nothing else will fit.

But it really is amazing how many toys an only child can accumulate. When we were cleaning out Jeannine's house, Sophie swore that she felt no attachment to any of the toys there. Most (in mint condition) were given away. Gail did save a few that I thought she might want to keep as memories. They were the best up ones, so we figured that those were the ones that she actually played with.

Right now, Ana and Grey are cuddled up together on the couch listening to Gail and Grace as they discuss holiday recipes. It is incredible how many different ways that there are to make the same dish. Ana has said almost nothing since we walked in except for Merry Christmas. It is more like she is an observer than a participant, but it is a lot better than if she were shut up in her room.

I know that pretty soon, Gail and Grace will be leaving to finish cooking. Grace put the roast beef in the oven earlier, before we got here. Sophie helped cook dinner last night, but we convinced her that two cooks in the kitchen at a time were enough. Needless to say, Gail was very uncomfortable with the idea of Grace cooking dinner for us. But Grace said that if they had come to their house then _she _would have doing the cooking. So they are doing it together.

Carrick makes another attempt at conversation.

"Taylor," he asks. "How are you enjoying being a full-time father?"

"It's not what I expected," I answer honestly. "I suppose that when Jeannine and I were divorced, I never had more of an expectation than I would be a weekend Dad. But she was so stingy with Sophie's time that I was somewhat l less than that, more like the child support font with occasional visiting privileges. Much as I missed my daughter back in those days, this is not the way that I ever wanted to get full custody. I might have loathed Jeannine, but I never wanted her dead. Even more so now that I have seen what it has done to Sophie."

"No," he replies. "I can't see you as that kind of a vindictive person. But that's not exactly what I meant."

"Well," I admit. "My choice of career and present job doesn't leave me much time for the Dad stuff. But it's not Grey's fault. He is constantly been offering me more time off to spend with Sophie. He's even offered to hire more staff to cover my hours. But, well, seven years of working as his close protection makes it difficult for me to step back from that."

"What do you mean?" he asks curiously.

"Well, I have become very familiar with his habits and the way that he does things," I reply. "I know this house, Escala, and Grey House like the back of my hand. No one that I could hire could ever achieve that level of knowledge."

"Surely Sawyer could spell you sometimes," he suggests. "He's been with you for over four years now. He must have built up the same degree of knowledge."

"I'm sure that he is," I say. "But Sawyer is Ana's close protection. He would feel no more comfortable leaving her with someone else as I would Mr. Grey. And in Ana's case, finding even a temporary replacement would be a monumental task. Ana needs him and that is where Grey and I would draw the line."

"Why is that?"

"Ana trusts Sawyer more than even me," I explain. "And she was _very _difficult in the beginning about accepting our protection. There were many times that we had to resort to covert surveillance to give her the illusion that she wasn't being watched. But that changed after the Jack Hyde business. After that, she finally accepted the fact that she could be a target for kidnapping."

"What about the children?" he asks.

"They will be easier because they will grow up surrounded by close security," I say.

"And when they go to school?"

"The plan is that they will go to Sophie's school," I reply. "They have an excellent security system in place already. Naturally, I investigated the place thoroughly before i sent her there. I even hired a couple of guys to try and breach the perimeter. It was a no go. That place is locked down tight. And since the attack in Sandy Hook a couple of years ago they have tightened things up even more. We don't have to worry about that. We will be able to drop the kids off in the morning and pick them up without sending our own security people in with them."

"I can't believe that you have thought that far ahead," he comments. "I mean, I'm not surprised that you have, but the level of detail is extraordinary."

"That's my job," I say simply. "But guarding the Greys is more than just a job for me. I genuinely care about this family. We have been through a lot together and we are going through more right now."

"Ana really views your wife as a good friend," he says.

"Yes, she does," I say. "And that makes our job a lot easier. She and Gail have an easy-going relationship. Her level of trust in Gail is useful. She never tries to hide anything from her."

"And she adores Sophie," he adds.

"Yes," I say smiling. "She regards Sophie as one of the family, perhaps even to a greater degree than she does Gail. I was concerned when Sophie began spending so much time here with Teddy. I was afraid that she was becoming a little babysitter when she should be out playing with her own friends."

"What changed your mind?"

"It's more like, who changed my mind," I answer. "It was Sophie. Teddy is like a little brother to her. And he of course loves her. Between him and Magic she has a rather large quantity of devotion and unconditional love, the kind that only a small child or a faithful pet can give."

"How did you convince Christian to let Magic in the house?" he asks curiously. "I know that he is very much opposed to any kind of pets, even a goldfish.

"I didn't," I reply. "I would have known better than to ask. Sophie went to Ana and Ana couldn't resist those big, blue eyes. The pooch was in the house before Grey even knew it. By then it was too late. Magic is pretty harmless. In fact, he is almost useless as a guard dog, but he has made an excellent companion for her. He sleeps on her bed every night, which I really don't like, but chasing him off is futile."

"When you come back to check he's right back where he started?" he asks.

"Something like that," I say. "Have you ever had a dog?"

"We had a golden retriever while I was growing up, named, very unimaginatively, Goldie," he replies. "After we married, Grace never wanted a dog because we work such long hours, but it would be nice to get one someday."

"I can highly recommend Labs," I say. "They're very friendly and mellow, but their hair isn't as long."

"Good point," he says. "That old Golden retriever shed like anything."

Grace and Gail get up to make dinner, and Gail passes Phoebe to Ana. Unconsciously, Carrick and I move closer to Christian and Ana. Grace almost immediately returns with a bottle for the baby.

"May I feed my little grandbaby?" asks Carrick, holding out his hands.

With a sigh, Ana hands her over. I am immediately concerned by her lack of interest. Usually, she is reluctant to let go. I know that now that the baby is on bottles instead of nursing that she misses that intimate contact with her. I hope that nothing is changing in her mood. Neither Carrick nor Grey pick up on this detail. I think that they are both just happy that she is downstairs and mingling with company.

Despite the fact that she has spent hours in bed over the last couple of days, she looks like she hasn't slept in months. Even as the conversation moves on to the topic of the Seahawks and their playoff chances, there is still little or no response. This is not a good sign either.

The old Ana would have rolled her eyes and gone to talk to the women in the kitchen or gotten down on the floor with the kids. Now she is staring off onto space. She obviously wants to be somewhere else, but that may be the football talk. It could also be that she is slipping back into her lethargy. I am glad that Grace is here to monitor that new medicine.

One of the frustrating things about the warnings on side effects for all these anti-depressants is that they contradict one another. One sentence says "may cause drowsiness" and the next says "may cause agitation and sleeplessness." Then there are "may cause weight gain" and "may lose appetite." When I brought up the matter with Dr. Tyler, she just said that the warnings refer to _extreme _symptoms and that they have a different effect on different body chemistries.

But that is one of the reasons why Grace is here. I trust her to monitor Ana's symptoms and interpret them as necessary. I haven't told Grey, but I do have the Audi SUV on standby in case we need to make a hospital run. None of us want another ambulance here and these precautions must be taken.

And right now, I have no desire to spoil what looks like a relaxed mood. Ana is curled up under his arm and his children are happily playing by the Christmas tree. In their Christmas finery, Teddy and Sophie look like something out of an old fashioned Christmas card. As I see the light from the fireplace reflecting off of Sophie's golden hair, I am very proud of her. She is really a little angel. All too soon, our peaceful afternoon is broken by the call of the two chefs to come to dinner.

The dining room has been beautifully set with a lovely Christmas dinnerware set. The only thing that mars the perfect picture is Teddy's high chair, which sits on a plastic sheet. The table beneath his plastic plate is also covered in plastic. I cringe at the thought of watching him eat, but then realize sadly that I do not remember Sophie well enough at that age to know if her table manners were equally bad.

As everyone sits down at the table, I notice that Magic has, as usual, followed Sophie and is sitting under her chair. Before Grey can object, Ana shows a little bit of spirit and tells him that Magic is welcome. I inwardly groan. Sophie is seated directly next to Teddy. There is no doubt that Magic is going to have lots of opportunities to partake of the meal without begging.

The indulgent grandfather is on the other side of Teddy and next to Ana who sits at the foot of the table. Grey sits at the head with his mother beside him, then myself and Gail beside Ana. Phoebe is close by in one of her many carriers, content to look around because she has just been fed.

Conversation flows easily around the dinner table, with Grace and Gail tripping over each other to complement one another for the meal. Carrick and Grey have switched from football to basketball, so now that conversation is all about the Trail Blazers. There is still some bitterness that since the Sonics left town a few years ago and now they have been forced to switch loyalties to an out-of-state team. Personally, I don't know why they bother.

Sophie is eating with perfect manners as always. I notice that she has shifted a little closer to Grace to get out of the line of fire. She was very pleased when she and Gail picked out her pretty dark-blue, velvet dress with white lace around the cuffs and collar.

But Magic has just about died and gone to doggie heaven. Originally, he had laid down facing Grace. But as soon as he sniffed the action under Teddy, he turned around. There will not be anything to clean up from the plastic sheet tonight. The dog is even lapping up the gravy. I just hope that all that table food doesn't make him sick later.

As dinner continues, I surreptitiously keep an eye on Ana. Grace insisted that Sawyer eat a proper meal in the kitchen, even though it means that he won't have Ana in his line of sight. If he doesn't cut this obsessive behavior out soon, I am going to ask Grey to have him talk to Flynn.

Maybe I'm hyper-aware of it, but it's almost like he's feeling guilty the way a soldier would who had messed up a battle plan. It is impossible to convince him that he did not mess up on that awful night. Let's face it. No one would have predicted Ana's movements that night. The best that anyone could do was to rescue her in time. And we did.

Right now, Ana is picking at her food. This is another bad sign. At least at the last couple of meals, she actually ate something. Presently, she is cutting up everything on her plate into very small pieces and moving it around. Occasionally she puts a tiny scrap in her mouth, but that's it. And after hardly eating anything all day, she must be hungry.

When it's time for dessert, Gail brings in a wonderful Black Forest cake. I must admit that I am touched. That is _my _favorite dessert, although I can't imagine that it would be a hardship for anyone to eat it, with the cherries, rich chocolate cake, and white cream. However, that does not account for Ana, who basically mashes hers up and doesn't eat a bite.

I notice that someone has finally realized that Magic has been chowing down on Teddy's droppings. He gets a very small piece of cake that he quickly destroys, but not a crumb touches the ground. After all, chocolate is poison for dogs. I would hate to have to use the SUV on standby to take the dog to the emergency vet clinic.

After dinner, I hunt Grace down in the kitchen and insist that Sawyer stay with us long enough to hear the conversation.

"Grace," I say. "I am concerned about Ana. Have you been watching her closely?"

"I'm not sure of why you're concerned," she replies. "She seems better to me."

I immediately move into my security mode.

"She has been present, but she hasn't really been engaging with everyone around her," I explain. "After you two went to cook dinner, she zoned out completely."

"Christian and Carrick were discussing football," she says drily. "I would have zoned out during that."

"But she didn't move a muscle when Carrick wanted to give Phoebe her bottle," I reply. "And at dinner, she hardly ate anything. She just pulverized her food and pushed it around. She hasn't eaten much today."

Grace is thoughtful at my words.

"You really are very observant, Taylor," she answers. "I knew that she was quiet, but I was so happy that she was present that I didn't notice how little she was truly engaging with those around her. And I was so busy talking at dinner, that I didn't notice the food thing."

"Do you have this, Sawyer?" I ask quickly. "Consider yourself on yellow alert."

"Yes, sir," he says, rapidly leaving the room.

"You sound as though you are fighting a battle," comments Grace.

"In many senses we are ma'am," I say stiffly. "And it is one fight I have no intention of losing."

However, I am glad that Grace had a chance to relax tonight. I know that she views Ana as another daughter and that she has been under a great strain for the last couple of weeks. And I know that not having Shonda here adds to the stress. However, she was definitely showing signs of battle fatigue when she left. She needed that leave very much.

More than anything else, I know that today's celebration was something of an illusion. Lucky for them, I stopped believing in illusions a long time ago. But just because I am cynical, it doesn't mean that they shouldn't feel a little bit of the magic of Christmas. Reality is waiting around the corner tomorrow or the day after. And they all need a break from that.


	26. Magic (Part 4)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Okay, I lied. There is a part 4 to this chapter. Warning, things are on a downward trajectory.**

**Chapter 21: Magic (Part 4) **

I cannot believe that I missed so many things in Ana's behavior today. Her method of hiding her food rather than eating it, and then her detachment from the conversation both escaped me. I know that these are classic signs of depression, but I wasn't paying close enough attention. Naturally, it was Taylor who noticed. I know that I let my guard slip, but it was just so easy.

Ana's darker moods have been very much defined by her inability to get out of bed, eat, and interact with others. Today she was up and around, actually sitting at the dinner table _appearing _to eat, and following enough of the conversation to answer appropriately when directly asked a question.

With so many others vying for Phoebe's attention, Ana's lack of interest in her didn't kick in. After all, most mothers will step back when the grandparents are around to give them "baby time," and Carrick spends far less time with her than I do.

Christian seems to have missed it all too. It almost feels like we had seen a little bit of progress and then let our guard down completely. I feel so guilty. I am afraid to even mention it to Christian, because I do not want him to feel guilty also. However, I don't want him to be surprised if Ana suddenly slips back in to her old malaise. I know that he has to be warned.

After her husband leaves the kitchen, Gail looks over at me.

"Don't worry, Grace," she says quietly. "We all missed it. It's one of the reasons that Charlotte wanted Jason and us to be here today. She wanted the rest of us to relax. We need a break as much as Shonda. She knew that not only does Jason never take a break, but that he is also trained to stand guard the way that he does and remain watchful in an unobtrusive manner."

"So Charlotte anticipated this?" I ask. "And you and Taylor knew?"

"Yes," she admits. "We both knew."

"Then why did he make me feel just now as if I had been derelict in my duty?" I respond in annoyance.

"That's his way," she sighs. "He doesn't necessary have the best people skills with 'civilians,' so to speak, and he does still view things through a military lens. I don't know if he will ever break himself of that habit."

"But now it's back to reality?" I ask.

"I'm afraid so," she replies. "But we have to look at the day as an overall success. We managed to get Ana through it without having to call Charlotte. We did get her up and out of bed and downstairs for the important parts of the day without an enormous struggle. I am sure that she will have to go to bed soon. I know that she is exhausted from the effort of maintaining a pretense for the rest of us."

"Oh," I say, not knowing what else I can say.

When we are finished, we return to the living room, where Carrick and Christian are drinking brandy, Ana is sitting and holding Phoebe, and Teddy and Sophie are once more playing with the trains. Sophie has been a patient little soul all day. But she is also looking worn out as she leans once again on Magic. Ana has not been the only one putting up a front for the rest of us.

I am grateful that the poor child has been able to spend the day with us. I know that the Taylors would have had a sad little Christmas by themselves. Knowing Taylor, he would have spent most of the day working, leaving Gail and Sophie together to pass the time. The transition to full-time stepmother has not been entirely smooth for Gail.

"It used to be so easy when she came," she told me once. "Since Jeannine was the one who was really raising her, she got to do all the hard work and rule making. When Sophie came to visit us, I really didn't think about discipline. We just hung out together as friends. Sophie has always been an exceptionally well-behaved child, but if anyone ever had to play the 'heavy,' so to speak, Jason did it."

"But now it's different."

"Very," she said emphatically. "Jason isn't around much, so I am left with the discipline and decision-making most of the time. Luckily, Sophie doesn't resent me. She's a pretty easy kid anyway. I doubt that we will ever see much rebellion out of her. On the bright side of things, Jason doesn't try to play good cop, bad cop. He backs me up on everything. It's that old chain of command thing, I guess. Never undermine your lower ranking officers."

Taylor returns to the living room.

"Gail, Sophie," he says. "I think that it's time to go home."

"Yes, Daddy," says Sophie immediately getting up.

"No! No!" cries Teddy. "Soo-ee!"

"I'm sorry, Teddy," says the little girl seriously. "But I have to go with Daddy and Gail. I will come back in the morning."

"SOO-EE!" he wails.

The young man has obviously finished his day. I go over and scoop him up and carry him upstairs and he continues to cry for Sophie. When we are alone in his room, he snuggles into my neck.

"Gramma," he gulps. "Soo-ee?"

"Tomorrow," I say gently. "Now it's time for sweet dreams."

"Dweams?" he asks.

"Happy thoughts while you sleep," I answer.

"Twains?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "If thoughts of trains are happy thoughts, you can dream about trains."

Now that he is settled down, it is no problem to change him and get him into his crib, which is definitely too small. I frown. Then we are joined by Christian, Ana, Phoebe, and Carrick.

"Goodnight, son," says Christian as he gives him a kiss on the head.

"Goodnight, baby," says Carrick next.

"No baby," mutters Teddy sleepily. "Fee-bee, baby."

"No, of course not," chuckles Carrick.

Then Ana bends over him.

"Goodnight, big boy," she softly.

"'Night, Mommy," he yawns. "Teddy, big boy."

We tiptoe out and over to Christian and Ana's room. Phoebe is also fast asleep, so Ana lays her down in the bassinet. Ana turns without a word and goes into the bathroom, presumably to change. Christian looks like he wants to say something, but I put a finger to my lips.

"Christian," I say. "You really need to get Teddy a 'big boy' bed. He is almost overflowing the crib. And before you know it, Phoebe will need it."

"I noticed that myself," he answers. "Tomorrow I guess, we can order one online."

"Um," says Carrick hesitantly. "I actually noticed it last week. I didn't get around to telling you that our Christmas gift to Teddy is a train-shaped bed. It has bars to attach to the sides so that when he is first getting used to it. It will be delivered tomorrow."

"Thank you, Carrick," says Ana returning from the bathroom, already dressed for bed.

"Bedtime for us too, honey?" asks Christian.

"I'm sure that it's too early for you," she says. "Why don't you go downstairs with Carrick and Grace? We will be fine up here. I am sure that Sawyer will let you know if anything happens."

Christian looks at her sharply for a minute, but there is no rancor in her voice, merely acceptance. The three of us return to the living room. Christian goes over to the bar and picks up the bottle of brandy.

"Mother? Dad?" he asks.

"Yes, please," I answer, as Carrick waves him off.

He hands me my drink and then sits down heavily. For a moment, he is silent and the he looks directly at me.

"This isn't anywhere near being over," he states.

"Well," I say. "I don't know if I would quite be so negative about it. She did better today than we thought that she would. In fairness, however, there hasn't really been enough time for the Wellbutrin to kick in."

"It takes about a week," he says.

"Yes," I reply. "So it's very possible that the small amount of progress that we are seeing is something that she is doing on her own. That is a good sign. It may also be why she is so exhausted. When you are feeling so depressed, just doing simple things like dressing and eating become huge chores."

"That makes sense," he replies. "It's just frustrating because no matter how much I read about the illness, while there seem to be some overarching patterns of behavior, a lot of the symptoms are individual to the patient."

"That's very true," I agree. "All we can do is take it one day at a time. And Charlotte will be back tomorrow morning to check in with Ana and the rest of us."

"At first I was skeptical when she wanted Ana to try and go it alone today," he says. "But now I'm glad that she did."

"Me too," replies Carrick and then changes the subject.

I am glad to talk about other things. There is no value in talking in circles about the same things regarding Ana. That kind of obsessive thinking is of no benefit to anyone. It's difficult for someone like Christian, who spends so much of his time problem solving. This is not a problem to be solved. It is an illness to be treated.

By ten o'clock, we are all ready for bed. Carrick and I go up to our room. We don't have much to say to each other. We are both tired from the long day.

"In some ways it's harder," Carrick says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"In some ways it is much harder seeing Ana so sick than it was when you were sick," he replies. "When you were sick, I could put all of my focus on you. But in this case, it's not just Ana that we have to worry about. There are also Christian and the children."

"Yes, I know what you mean," I sigh. "But it is going to get worse in a week."

"Oh?"

"When the in-laws come," I say grimly. "I am not too worried about Ray. I think that we will be able to explain things in a way that he will understand and not push too hard to see Ana, if she doesn't want to see him."

"You're worried about Carla?" he asks.

"Aren't you?" I reply sharply. "About the only thing that we know about her reaction is that she will get emotional. I don't blame Ana for not wanting to see her. I don't really want to see her either."

"But she should be able to see her grandchildren," he says reasonably. "She has seen almost nothing of Phoebe."

"That is her own fault," I say. "She only came up for a few days after she was born. Christian would have sent the plane for her anytime that she wanted. And it's not like she or Bob have jobs."

"Well," he says. "All that we have to do is be patient with her. She won't be here long enough to do any damage. If you want, I will be the one to deal with her when she can't see Ana. How is that going to work, anyway?"

"Charlotte and I are going to meet with Ray and Carla separately to explain everything," I reply. "Charlotte wants to question them about Ana's health and mental health background. She thinks that there are things that Ana hasn't told her. And she is interested in Carla's mental health background."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yes, well, don't tell Christian because chances are that he won't know what to make of it," I explain. "But when Ana had her episode the other day, she told Shonda that Carla got migraines. It's only a theory, but Charlotte thinks that Carla may have had mental health issues in the past."

"Wait until she meets her," he mutters. "She may think that she still has them."

"Anyway," I continue. "Sometimes 'migraines' can be code for depression. It is just as good a reason as any if Mommy can't get out of bed or see anyone. Even if Carla is evasive about herself, we think that Ray will give it to us straight. Especially if it means helping Ana."

"The old stigma of mental illness rearing its ugly head again?" he asks.

"We can't escape," I reply simply. "And Carla is not that much younger than us. Things were still pretty dicey back in the nineties."

"But she must have had pretty good health insurance," he comments. "Through the military."

"Well," I say. "You know that that only takes you so far. And the military still isn't very good about covering mental illness. Look at all the PTSD claims from the soldiers returning from Iraq and Afganistan that _still _are in the queue. Some of these men and women have been waiting years."

"Well, then, I guess I should keep my mouth shut," he says. "Carla just doesn't seem like the depressed type. She just seems to run at two speeds. Wait a minute . . ."

"No, Carrick," I interrupt. "Don't even go there. It is not our job to try and diagnose anyone, especially when we don't know anything yet. There are plenty of kooky people out there who are not mentally ill."

"Okay," he replies. "I guess 'kook' accurately describes her."

I shake my head. He still has a steep learning curve. Granted, Carla has never been my favorite cup of tea either, but she is Ana's mother and deserves our respect as such. If we want to start throwing labels around, it wouldn't be too hard call Mia crazy. We just accept her eccentricities because we love her. I know that Ana feels the same way about her mother.

If we aren't careful, it would be easy to start labeling everyone that we know as mentally ill, just based on some of their personality quirks. Very creative and talented people often struggle with social issues or "different" ways of viewing the world. That is what makes them who they are. We need to be careful not to medicate all of their singular brilliance out of them.

How often am I faced with the dilemma of whether or not to medicate children who are a little on the rambunctious side? Teachers and parents these days are very quick to slap labels like ADHD on children who don't behave has perfect little angels. This is especially true in the case of middle school children, especially boys. Brain studies have shown that children of that age have a lot of pre-frontal lobe development going on and their "executive functioning" is not what it should be.

Sometimes I just want to tell parents that despite the fact that they are driving them crazy, their children are behaving perfectly normally for this stage of their development. It may not be normal by adult standards or very easy to deal with in the classroom, but it is an important part of their growth. In order to learn boundaries, most kids need to test them. Every kid who acts out or rebels in school does not need to be on Adderal, just like every sad person doesn't need Prozac.

We go to bed, but we have not even had a chance to fall asleep before Christian is at my side.

"Mother," he whispers urgently. "Could you please come and see Ana?"

I quickly get out of bed, throw on my robe, and follow him to their bedroom. The light on the nightstand is already on, dimly lighting the room. Phoebe is still sound asleep, but Ana is sitting up wide-awake. Her eyes look around in confusion, as if she does not know where she is. Not wanting to startle her, I sit down on the bed beside her and carefully take her hand. She looks at me.

"Grace?" she says quietly.

"Yes, dear, I'm here," I reply gently.

"Christian?"

"I'm here too," he says calmly. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," she answers uncertainly. "I . . . I guess it was a dream."

"Good dream or bad dream?" I ask softly.

"Bad, I think."

She looks at both of us, as if she is very puzzled. I can feel the tension starting to build in Christian. I decide that it is better if I handle this alone. Someone has to stay with Phoebe anyway.

"Ana, why don't we go downstairs for a cup of tea?" I ask.

Before she answers, she takes a look over at Phoebe. Christian takes the hint.

"I'll stay with Phoebe," he says quietly, even though I know that he wants desperately to be with Ana. "She will be just fine."

"Okay," says Ana and gets out of bed.

Unfortunately, she stands up too quickly and dizzily collapses into my arms. Christian is right behind me, but Ana is so light that I have no problem supporting her. She looks up at me fearfully.

"It's the medication," I say quietly. "You didn't eat much for dinner and now it has made you a little dizzy. It's nothing to worry about. We'll have a little snack with the tea."

She gives me a nod and then regains her balance. As we leave the room, Christian looks anxiously behind us. I tip my head to indicate that he needs to worry about the baby and he settles himself in the rocking chair. Phoebe sighs a little, but is completely unaware of what has just taken place around her.

Ana and I make our way down the stairs slowly. Now that she is upright, she is much steadier, however, she still leans on my arm for support. Her breathing is a little uneven, but I think that this may be a product of the dream. I am not sure it was a nightmare, because she woke up confused rather than terrified. I settle her at the kitchen table and make our tea. I also bring over the plate of Christmas cookies.

"You should try nibbling on one," I suggest.

She looks at them doubtfully, but obediently picks one up and breaks off a tiny piece with her teeth. By the time we are seated with our tea, I can see that she has taken a few more little bites. I set the cup and tea bag before her. As soon as I pour the water into the cup, she plops the bag in and then almost immediately pulls it out. It is a completely automatic response. She has been taking her tea like this for years. Then I sit down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.

She sighs.

"I don't even know what to talk about," she answers. "It wasn't any kind of a narrative story. It was just weird."

"Weird," I repeat thoughtfully. "In what way?"

She looks like she is concentrating hard in order to remember it. But it looks as though she is not even able to make sense of any of it. Finally she answers.

"It was lights and colors," she says. "And mirrors. Yes, there were mirrors reflecting the lights and colors in odd ways. Sometimes faces appeared."

"Was there any sound?"

"No, no sound," she replies. "I didn't even scream or cry when I woke up. I realize of that I woke up Christian because I was kind of thrashing around. When I came to, he was holding me, you know, cradling me in his arms like I was a baby or something. Then I was just . . . bewildered. How did I get from there to here? Where was there, anyway? When he saw that I wasn't going to have a fit or something, he went to get you."

"Well, I really can't tell you what is going on," I admit. "Obviously something is disturbing your sleep, but it doesn't seem to have enough form and substance to really tell me anything. I'm afraid that dream analysis is not one of my specialties."

She sits thoughtfully sipping her tea. She continues to eat the cookie in miniature bites, but even so, she has eaten about half. I can see that the tea is helping her to relax. I don't think that she realizes that it is decaffeinated tea. Last week, Charlotte had us replace the tea in the Twinings Breakfast Tea box with the decaf version. She thought that even though the tea, as weak as she liked to drink it, might have just enough caffeine to add to her anxiety.

But right now, she does not really seem anxious. It looks like she is ruminating, although it is hard to tell. Finally, I can't stand it anymore.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask hopefully.

She gives me a wan smile.

"They're not even worth that much," she replies. "I was trying to recollect what happened today. But it doesn't seem as though much did."

"Well," I say. "From an action point of view, I guess that not much happened. We have Teddy and Phoebe their presents, had breakfast, you all took naps, the Taylors came over, we had dinner, you went to bed."

"Okay," she says. "That's what I thought. I was afraid that I missed something."

"Why did you think that?" I ask.

She shrugs.

"I don't know," she finally says. "I have been dreading this day for weeks. And then, it came and went and nothing happened."

"What did you think would happen?" I ask.

"I guess I thought that I would somehow ruin things for everyone," she explains. "You know, I thought that I might make a scene or upset everyone somehow. But I didn't. Everyone had a nice time. So I guess it wasn't so bad after all."

"That's good," I respond. "But, Ana, didn't you get any pleasure out of the day?"

"I got pleasure out of the fact that I didn't mess it up for everyone else."

I resist the temptation to sigh. Looking at her sipping her tea and nibbling on her cookie, I notice that she is tired, but calm. I feel sad myself. I had hoped that she would have gotten more pleasure out of the day than simply not spoiling it for everyone else. I had hoped that she would have felt some of the joy herself.

When we are done, I return her to her room, where Christian is anxiously waiting. I give him a small nod and he takes her to put her to bed. To give them some privacy, I close the door. When I look up, I see that Sawyer is looking at me. He has been discreetly shadowing us, since Christian got up to get me. I can read the worry in his face, but I have nothing new to tell him.

Once I return to my room and lie down, I begin to wonder about Ana's colorful yet formless dream. I wonder if that could be a product of the medication. I know that some of the antidepressants, under their lengthy lists of side effects, do create sleep disturbances. I am too tired however, to check it out now. I look at the clock and see that it is after midnight. The magic of Christmas is clearly over.


	27. Interlude (Part 1)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 22: Interlude (Part 1) **

I stop at the gate and punch the code into the security keypad. The gates slowly swing open and as I drive through, I notice that the gatehouse is almost complete. I am actually sorry that the place is starting to look like a fortress, but I suppose that I can understand the concern after Kate managed to get in. It took a lot of nerve for her to do that, however most journalists are aggressive like that. Especially when they think that they are after a great story.

Once inside the gate, the place is very peaceful. The meadow has burns over from the winter's cold. About halfway up to the house, I pass Sophie walking out with her big, black Lab, Magic. There is no one else insight until I reach the main house, where one of the new security men meets me. Even though I have used the code to get in, he still approaches me.

"Who are you, sir?" he asks politely.

I almost chuckle, but restrain myself. Normally, the security people ask me to "identify myself." Clearly this one hasn't been through Taylor's full training program.

"I am Dr. John Flynn," I reply. "Here to see Mr. Grey. I have an appointment for ten am."

The man taps this into a tablet computer and nods.

"You may proceed," he says.

I swing my car into the parking area and step out. The breeze out here on the Sound is brisk and has a hint of rain in it. I suppose that's why I was attracted to Seattle in the first place. The damp and rain remind me of home in England. I walk up the path, but before I can knock on the door, I am greeted by the day housekeeper. The new one hired to free up Gail Taylor to look after the children.

"Good morning, Dr. Flynn," she greets me, as if she were expecting me, and then offers to take my jacket.

After I hand it over, I move into the great room, which is presently dominated by an enormous Christmas tree. I know the way to Christian's study. The door is closed, so I knock.

"Hello, John," he greets me, as he swings the door open.

He is on the phone with someone, so he gestures towards a chair. I seat myself and wait for him to finish with either Ros or Andrea. I can hear the tension in his voice as he talks. Some deal or other is not going well, but he is doing a fairly good job of controlling his temper. When he is done, he throws the Blackberry across the desk and sits down with a huge sigh.

"Things not running so smoothly with you working from home?" I ask.

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

"It's just not the same as being there," he replies. "I am used to running things in a more hands on way. The screw ups, even though they're insignificant, are starting to really piss me off."

"No kidding," I answer, acknowledging his tone.

"What the hell can I do?"

"So go back," I say simply.

He stares at me.

"That's not an answer. I asked you, what _can _I do? Go back?" he asks, his voice rising. "With everything going on here with Ana? How can you even suggest it?"

"Look, Christian," I say. "The holiday is past. You have two doctors looking after her. One of your great stress-relievers, in addition to your favorite, is work. And, come to think of it, when was the last time that you had a good workout with Claude?"

"Claude was here this morning at six am," he answers defensively. "I have my own gym, remember? And I don't care how many people are taking care of Ana, paid or unpaid, I still need to be here for her."

"Are you really here for her?" I ask and then wait for the onslaught.

"What?" he roars, turning an amazing shade of purple. "Why the hell else would I be here if it wasn't for Ana?"

"Isn't it possible that you are here for yourself?" I ask.

That shuts him down pretty quickly. The tension in his body cranks down a notch and he slumps back in his chair. I know that I am one of the few people that he trusts to tell him the truth, no bullshit, just the honest to God truth. But his ire is not completely gone.

"You have five minutes to explain," he says tightly.

"Christian, just think about it," I say calmly. "Ana is sick. When someone is sick you get her medical care, which you have done in spades. There is probably no psych patient right now who is as well cared for as Ana. You also try to do things to make her daily life easier. Once again, she has no worries about her children's care, the running of the house, or her company for that matter.

"_But, _and this is a very big but, I am sure that she is worried about you. You know better than I do that she worries about no one the way that she worries about you. Ever since you started dating, her greatest fear has always been losing you, followed closely by the fear that she is not good enough for you. Without talking to Charlotte Tyler, I am willing to bet that these latent fears and anxieties are still bubbling under the surface."

As I pause to take a breath, he becomes impatient.

"Get to the point, Flynn, before I throw you out now," he growls.

"You need to realize that Ana does not need to have you in the house twenty-four seven right now," I continue. "She needs to know that _you _are well and strong. She needs to know that she is not dragging you down into what I am sure she is perceiving is the abyss of her depression. You need to work. You need to get out of the house, so that you are not yelling at your staff over the phone.

"She needs for you to at least attempt to behave normally, or at least as normally as you are capable of, in order to rest her mind about your well-being. If you show her that you are strong, she will feel stronger. She also know that if she needs you that you will be here at the drop of a hat."

"You don't understand," he says. "She is so fragile right now. We actually got her to come downstairs yesterday and join us for breakfast, dinner, and time with the kids. Last night, she had a weird, colorful nightmare. I tried to help her. I didn't know what so I got Mother. She brought her back and I was able to make her feel safe through the night."

"Question number one," I ask. "Do you know that weird dreams are a side effect of Wellbutrin?"

"No," he says reluctantly.

"Now, tell me again," I ask. "Who was it that settled Ana down and got her to return to bed?"

A moment of silence.

"Mother," he replies, even more reluctantly.

"Now let me guess," I finish. "After Ana returned to bed, you didn't get much sleep?"

"Of course not!" he shouts, grateful to have an excuse to be mad again.

"Christian," I say, ignoring his seething rage. "You need distance from this. Ana knows that you are sleep deprived. I am willing to bet that the whole house knows. You cannot continue to obsess like this. Face it, you cannot control this situation."

"I know that!"

"No, you don't," I disagree mildly. "That's why you can't leave her. You have been home with her a couple of days and you have gotten too close to it to even think rationally. Now I'm not saying that you should return to your twelve hour work days. But at least go in for half days.

"Schedule meetings where you know that you are the critical player. It is only a matter of time before Ros or Andrea can't take it anymore and no amount of money will keep them working for you. How do you think that Ana will feel if either or both of them quits because they screwed up something that you should have handled yourself?

"You need to let go of your 'control-freakishness,' as Ana calls it, with regard to her situation, which you can't control, and satisfy your need for it by taking back control of your company. Go back to driving your staff crazy by micro-managing them up close and personal. It's better than having to clean up after them."

"I just don't want to let Ana down when she needs me," he says.

"I know what you are thinking of," I say. "And you need to let go of it. It's been over three years since you found out that she was pregnant with Teddy and ran out on her for a night. This is not the same thing. She forgave you for that one long ago, but I'm beginning to think that you never forgave yourself."

He doesn't answer me, but looks out into space. Before either of us can say another word, there is a knock on the door.

"Yes?" he asks calmly.

Charlotte pokes her head in.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asks, "I didn't know that John was here."

"No, come in," he says wearily. "How is Ana doing?"

"You couldn't tell this morning?" she asks in surprise.

"She got up for breakfast and ate some yogurt and blueberries, no granola," he says. "Her mood seemed pretty flat, and she was tired. She went back to bed after she ate. But I know that she got dressed before you were due to come."

"That is an accurate description of what she did and how she appeared," replied Charlotte. "What does that tell you about how she is?"

"Better, I think," he answers uncertainly. "At least Mother and I didn't have to cajole her out of bed."

"Good," she says. "That is my assessment. She is a little better."

"I feel like I'm not doing anything," he says, feeling frustrated. "Shouldn't she be better than this? What can I do?

"Truthfully?"

"Go back to work," she says.

"Have you been eavesdropping on our conversation?" he asks testily.

"No," she responds. "Have you been discussing this?"

"Yes," he answers. "Did you and Flynn coordinate before you both came this morning?"

"No," she says. "Why would we do that? Now, listen. Ana's worried about you. She thinks that you need to go back to work or you are going to go stir crazy around here."

"Don't say I told you so," Christian tells me darkly.

"I'm not saying a word," I answer, holding up my hands.

Charlotte ignores our exchange and continues.

"The improvement in Ana's mood is very subtle," she says. "I haven't seen her in thirty-six hours, and I can see it. You probably can't see it because you haven't been able to get any perspective. If you get out of the house for a few hours, you might be able to discern it for yourself. She also thinks that you are hovering."

More silence.

"She does?"

Charlotte nods and says, "Try to keep your life going. If she needs you she will ask for you. She is not afraid to do that. When she needed you to help her get through Christmas Day, you were there for her. and she is very grateful. She already feels guilty because Grace is here full time and Gail is so busy with the children that she doesn't have time for Sophie. Please don't add to it."

"Okay," he says reluctantly. "Did she tell you about her dream?"

"Yes," she says. "It's a side effect of the medication. But it is a side effect of most anti-depressants. It occurs most often in the early stages, while the body's s still adjusting to it and before begins to react. I am not inclined to change the Wellbutrin so quickly, because it really takes a week or so to kick in. Grace is monitoring her symptoms and the potential side effects. She is doing an excellent job."

"Okay," he sighs. "I will go back to work."

I am surprised that he is capitulating so easily. He obviously trusts Charlotte's judgment rather than mine, at least where Ana is concerned.

"Christian," she says. "I need for you to tell me what you know about Ana's relationships with her parents."

"We'll start with Ray because he's easier," answers Christian. "She really does consider him her father. She was almost devastated when he was in a terrible car accident a month or so after we married. Ray has been the parent that she can count on, but he can be pretty gruff. He chewed her out after the Jack Hyde incident."

"Do you think that he would chew her out now?" she asks.

"If you explain everything to him," he replies. "I can pretty much guarantee that he won't. He loves her like his own and he would be very upset if he knew the full story of her illness and very hurt if he knew why she wouldn't see him. Yes, I think that he would be good."

"I hoped that you would say that," she says. "She has always viewed him as a stabilizing force in her life. He is the only father that she knows, since he was married to her mother for sixteen years. And he took her back in when she left 'husband number three,' as she calls him. Do you know anything about that?"

"She's never spoken of it and I don't press," he replies.

"Well, she seems to have greater faith in him than her mother, anyway," she comments.

"That's very true," he says. "But I suppose that you want to know about Carla."

"Yes," she replies simply.

"Carla is another story," he says grimacing. "Most of the time she seems to be nuts. I am sure that Ana has told you all about how flaky she is. Four husbands in twenty years, even accounting for the death of the first one, is a lot. If Ray is a rock in a crisis, Carla falls apart. I don't blame Ana for not wanting to see her."

"Well, I need to talk to her about Ana's medical history and about her own," she says. "I will be explaining everything to her about Ana's condition. You don't think that will convince her to control herself?"

"To be perfectly honest," he says. "I don't think that she _can _control herself. In addition to being flighty, she is very impulsive. I could see her promising not to cry and then weeping the minute that she saw Ana. And Ana knows that too. Carla is pretty transparent."

"Ana is afraid that her feelings will be hurt if she sees Ray but not her mother," comments Charlotte.

"Carla didn't worry too much about hurting Ana's feelings when she didn't show up for her graduation from college," he says sanguinely. "And that was a very big deal if you consider that Ana was the first in her family to even attend college. But it is just like Ana to put Carla's feeling in front of her own. Ray was there, so proud I thought that he would burst."

"That is true," says Charlotte thoughtfully. "Well, we have four days to work things out. And I suspect that Ana will be relieved when Shonda returns."

"I hate to admit it," agrees Christian. "But so will I. The old battle axe kind of grows on you."

He is still for a moment and then smiles.

"After I said that," he comments. "I half expected her to come sashaying through the door, without knocking, and asking 'who you callin' a battle axe?'"

Christian's poor attempt at imitating Shonda's accent makes us both laugh. Charlotte stands up to leave.

"Well, that's all I have for now," she says. "And Christian, go back to work!"

After she leaves, I turn to Christian.

"Well, you now have the opinions of both psychiatrists to whom you are paying obscene amounts of money," I say, as I get up. "Why don't you follow them?"

"I guess I will," he says. "If this is what Ana wants, then this is what I will do."

"I think that you should talk to her right now," I suggest. "You know that she will never ask on her own. You still have time to go in for the afternoon."

"Okay," he says, still seeming to be uncertain. "I will bring it up and see how she reacts. If you are right and that is what she wants, then that is what I will do."

"Good," I reply. "Then my work here is done. When do you want me to return? Or do you want to see me at my office since you are going to be in the city?"

"_If _I am going to be in the city," he corrects. "Yes, I would prefer to meet you there. Maybe in two days?"

"Fine with me," I say. "Have Andrea call with a good time. My schedule is light because most people don't want to see their shrink over the holidays."

"But I'm not most people."

"You never have been," I answer lightly. "But that's fine by me. You are my challenge."

"And your best customer," he mumbles.

"Thanks to you," I say. "I can put my kids through college."

He shakes his head and almost laughs. After he walks me to the door, he turns and is back into the house, probably to find Ana to see what she wants him to do. As I drive back down the driveway, I once again see Sophie wandering aimlessly through the meadow. The dog is no longer playful, but walking close beside her, as if he was trying to console her.

It's a pity that Grey won't have a pet of his own in the house. There's nothing like the love and devotion of a dog or cat to calm the spirit and sooth the soul. Of course any animal living in the same house as Teddy would probably be crazy. I think of my own dog Percy (short for Percival, a kind of stupid name for a dog).

We got him before our older son was born and he was normal until the younger one came along. Then Mr. "Hell on Wheels" got his hands on him and "poof!" All the money spent on obedience school went down the drain. Even now that my son is older and more tame, the damage has been done. If Percy had not managed to wind himself so securely around our hearts, he would have been gone long ago.

I hope that I will not hear from Christian before his next appointment. In the case of Ana, no news is good news. And any good news would be very welcome at this point.


	28. Interlude (Part 2)

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum **

**Chapter 22: Interlude (Part 2)**

A bit of peace has fallen over the house for the past four days. This morning Shonda returned and was very pleased by the atmosphere. It appears that the Wellbutrin is having some benefit. Ana is able to get up on her own and spends time with the children without any encouragement from us. She continues to eat lightly, but she is still eating. She still naps in the afternoon, but no longer than the children nap.

She is still quiet, but can be more easily engaged than before. It also seems that Jason was wrong in his assessment on Christmas that she was slipping. The improvement is coming in small increments, but it is still coming. In fact, she was well enough yesterday and the day before, that I felt able to take Sophie to the mall and go ice-skating. And yesterday when we went skating, Jason, much to Sophie's delight, came with us.

Thankfully, Mr. Grey has been working short days at the office. He is less tense at home and Jason says that he is less of a bear at work. It has improved Ana's mood to have him more engaged in his work. He is no longer fussing over her. It makes her feel less guilty about being sick. However, yesterday a little dark cloud entered the horizon because Ray, Carla, and Carla's husband Bob came to stay at Grace's house.

Grace brought the children over to see them yesterday afternoon as planned. Things went well with Ray, who reacted to Charlotte's explanation of why Ana was reluctant better than we had expected. Unfortunately, Carla did not accept the news with the same grace. Completely out of the blue, she became hostile. And much to everyone's annoyance, she decided to play dirty.

When Teddy returned home, he naturally told Ana all about seeing Grampa Ray and Gramma Carla. He also told us that Gramma Carla asked "wots" of questions about Mommy. He then repeated them (in his own way). They were mostly about what Mommy was doing and how she was "fee-ying." But he was curious because at one point Mr. Bob told her to "can it."

"No cans in Gramma's house," he said puzzled.

And apparently Carla is also put out because Grace was "Gramma" and she was "Gramma Car-ya." She made a remark about it to Teddy who just told her, "You no here." Ray tried to point out that he was "Grampa Way," but to no avail. She told him acidly, in a low voice at least, that he was only the step-grandfather. Teddy, with his supersonic hearing then asked, "Where da steps?"

I am not sure of why she is being so impossible. It is really very much out of character for her. Yes, she is pretty ditzy, but she has never been mean-spirited. Grace told me that her attitude took a turn for the worse after her conversation with Charlotte. She complained loudly about having to go through a "screening process" before she could see her own daughter.

They are all dreading the time when she finds out that Charlotte, for some reason, doesn't want her anywhere near Ana. Grace was present for the conversation, but has been very circumspect in her comments. Ray will be allowed to have a short visit, but even then, Charlotte wants someone else present.

Whatever information she managed to glean from her conversations, she has told Grace that some of the missing pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fall into place. Grace is not exactly sure of what she means. But then again, she has not been privy to all of Ana's therapy sessions. She considers it another step forward that Charlotte may finally be closing in on the heart of the matter.

But she also warned that things might not get better because of it. She wants to see Ana make more progress on the medication before she begins to work with her to confront her past. I think that Shonda knows more. She is back in full mama bear protective mode. So far, she hasn't let on to Ana that she is quite so concerned again.

"Why Ana," she said, when she returned. "Why you are looking a whole sight better than when I last saw you. Soon you won't be needing old Shonda."

Ana looked panicked.

"Of course, I need you," she replied, looking agitated. "I've missed you very much."

Before Shonda could answer, Teddy came running into the room and grabbed Shonda around the knees.

"Auntie Shonda back!" he hollered at the top of his lungs. "Little man miss Auntie Shonda."

"Well what do you know?" she said. "Little man ain't improved in his behavior at all. Was Santa Claus good to you, you little rascal?"

"Twains!"

"Oh! So that jolly old elf got you more trains," she said, shaking her head. "I thought that you had no more room for them things."

Teddy thought about that.

"Always more woom for twains," he answered seriously.

Shonda just shook her head and smiled. And then she commented on how Phoebe had grown.

"I see old Sawyer is still on patrol," she commented, as she looked down the hall way. "And where is Mr. Christian?"

"Daddy work," replied Teddy. "Dwive us cwazy!"

Shonda laughed out loud and told Teddy that there were no secrets around him. He looked puzzled, but laughed anyway. She even managed to get a decent smile out of Ana, who was visibly relaxed by her presence. She encouraged Grace to go home and tend to her visitors. However Grace grimaced and changed the subject.

"That's what I hire Gretchen for," she told Shonda and I later. "And Carrick is home at night. Jose Sr. is coming over tomorrow and he and Ray will be going out. Poor Ray. Carla has been taking out a lot of her bad mood on him. I talked to Bob and he has no idea of what has gotten into her. She won't talk to him about it, so he is just suffering along with the rest of us."

"Well, Mrs. Carla better not try and come around here," declared Shonda. "Ain't nobody getting near my Ana and setting back her progress."

Absence has not made Shonda any less possessive of Ana. In fact, it may have even made it worse. In a match up between Carla and Shonda, my money is on Shonda. She is pleased when Ana and Teddy bring her downstairs to get a closer look at the trains. Feeling very important, Teddy puts on his engineer's cap and explains everything to her.

It is amusing to listen to him prattle. Every time he explains, the story becomes a little more embellished. Shonda listens with suitable attention, nodding when appropriate. There is no need to comment or ask questions once he is "in the flow." Ana sits with Phoebe on the couch and Phoebe watches her brother attentively. It is clear to anyone who sees them that someday they will be best friends.

Seeing them makes me feel a little sad for Sophie, who is an only child. Last night when a friend called up to invite her for the day; Jason and I both insisted that she accept the invitation. She tried to argue that she has Teddy to play with, but we feel that she really needs to spend more time with children her own age. Even Shonda agrees. When she asked after her, Teddy looked mournful and said that she had a play date "away," with a big girl. Naturally Shonda said something along the ones of "do that child a world of good."

Lunch had a festive atmosphere. Shonda, Charlotte, Grace, and I joined Ana and the children. Between Shonda and Teddy, the conversation was cheerful, occasionally bordering on the ridiculous. Charlotte gave Ana several approving looks when she made unprompted statements.

After lunch, Ana and the children go up for their naps and we to the opportunity to talk.

"Does Ana really need to have that nap?" asks Shonda.

"She still tires easily," replies Charlotte. "And we don't want to push her. She needs to be alert for Christian so they can spend some quality time together. She still goes to bed early. I'm just glad that we got him back to work."

"It has definitely reduced his stress level," agrees Grace. "I'm glad that you and Flynn were able to tag team him back in."

"We really didn't tag team, as you call it," answers Charlotte. "We both came to the same conclusion independently. But what actually decided him was Ana. She wanted him to go back so that she wouldn't feel guilty about keeping here. But Grace, she still feels guilty about you."

"Great," she says. "And I can't tell _her _that I prefer to be here because I don't want to be around her mother. It's too bad that Carla was so uncooperative when it came to Teddy."

Now it was Charlotte's turn to grimace.

"I will have to talk to her again," she says. "If she can't control herself around him, then she can't see him. Her questions confuse him and he understands just enough of them to convey the meaning and intent to Ana. It's not good for either of them."

"Why is Carla being so difficult?" I ask. "This is really out of character for her."

Grace and Charlotte exchange a glance.

"I had to ask Carla some questions that I thought were just very informational and generic," replies Charlotte. "But Carla very quickly became defensive and evasive. Ray knows what's up with some of it, but he is not really willing to talk. I tried asking Bob, but he doesn't know about Carla's early years with Ray and Ana."

"Do you have any idea of what it might be?" I ask.

"Some," she admits. "But Grace and I have discussed it and since we only have suppositions to go by, we have decided not to tell anyone, including Christian."

"Why won't you tell Mr. Christian?" asks Shonda.

"Without anything concrete to tell him, it would unnecessary upset him," she says. "I talked to Flynn and he agrees that the partial knowledge that we have would only raise more questions. It would possibly make him angry and want to confront Carla himself to try and make her tell us the whole story. The last thing that we need is full-scale family warfare. Both of them are so touchy right now that I would prefer to keep them apart."

"But it's okay for Ana to see Ray?" I ask.

"I don't see the harm," replies Charlotte. "She has improved to the point where she could manage a short, coherent conversation with him. Her demeanor and appearance won't shock him the way that it would have even a week ago. And seeing him could help. He has always been there when she needed him. It would be good to tap into that positive relationship now as a way of further bolstering her spirits."

"So you are hopeful that we have come to a turning point?" I ask starting to feel more hopeful myself.

"I can only hope that we have," she replies. "We haven't even started to do the really heavy lifting yet. There have been issues simmering below the surface for years. In the long run, it would be better for her to face them now so that she could move on. If we let her bury them again, it would only be a matter of time before they would emerge."

"I'm curious," I say. "Can you tell me if she wants more children?"

"Yes, she does," confirmed Charlotte. "Initially she was afraid that another pregnancy would put her at risk for depression again. However, I have explained to her that if we can root out the issues now and deal with them, it will make her emotionally stronger. It would help her face down the depression if it was based on the hormones."

"So you think that this is hormonally based?" asks Shonda.

"At the moment, that it my best conclusion," she replies. "I am leaning towards the idea that the trigger for the depression was the hormones, but that the feelings of insecurity and inadequacy have always been there. There are other things that we can point to, but the root of those specific issues is really based on those feelings."

"Can you give us an example?" I ask.

"The problem with her sister-in-law, Kate, is the best example that I can think of," she replies. "It sounds like Kate was going on and on the way about how wonderfully she is doing and what a marvel her baby is as she tends to do. Nothing that she said or did was unusual for her. But as is her own habit, Ana compared herself to Kate and found herself wanting."

"This is true," adds Grace. "Kate has always been a little full of herself. She is very self-confident and opinionated. Normally, Ana rolls with that. It doesn't really bother her at all."

"But right now," continues Charlotte. "With her self-esteem in the toilet because her hormones are throwing her mood off, she had lost that perspective. She still isn't up to seeing Kate, but she is slowly coming to grips with this and really less intimidated."

"Was Kate a trigger?" I ask curiously.

"Possibly, but probably not," shrugs Charlotte. "She may have been a contributing factor, but only because a lot of other things were going on. We need to stay focused on the fact that all of this is more about what is going on _inside _of Ana's head, rather the events taking place _outside. _It is all about Ana's perceptions, which, more often than not, are not reflective of reality. I would say that when Ana gets to the other side of this, that she and Kate will be good friends again."

"What about the other kids?" I ask.

"Mia, Elliot, and Ethan?" she responds, with a little smile.

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't really call any of them kids," replies Charlotte with a smile. "Although there are times when Mia might qualify. Ana had decided that if she won't see Kate, them she won't see the other three. She thinks, and I concur, that this would be hurtful to Kate."

"Definitely," Grace agrees. "Kate accepts the idea of the grandparents and parents, mostly because of the children. She has been doing a lot of research into postpartum and understands it much better now. She really wants to help."

"Is she working on an article?" I ask curiously.

"Yes," answers Grace. "The paper isn't interested in it, but she is working on a feature series and hoping to freelance it to a larger news organization or possibly a magazine."

"Her father's?" I ask.

"Maybe," replies Grace. "It depends on the quality of the article."

"Well, I'm glad that she is finally making herself useful," comments Shonda. "This is certainly an issue that people need educating on. Make our jobs a whole lot easier if folks wasn't so scared when they got sick of other people finding out."

"She's an excellent writer," Grace assures us. "And she loves Ana very much. This is her way of demonstrating that to her."

"Yes," agrees Charlotte. "I am sure that it is her way of coping with the temporary loss of her friend. When she was here, I could see that beneath that aggressive exterior, she was hurting a lot. People react in different ways to being told that they can't see a loved one because they might hurt them."

"So that is the root of Carla's problem?" I say. "Is she hurt?"

"Well," answers Charlotte hesitantly. "It's not just that she's hurt. She is being very defensive. It's too bad because she probably won't be here long enough for me to discover whatever it is that she is holding back. And whatever it is, I suspect that knowing it would help Ana."

With that, she leaves for Ana's office. Shonda goes upstairs to unpack and settle in. Grace and I are left alone.

"Gail," she says. "I've been wanting to talk to you about Sophie."

"Are you concerned?" I ask.

"Yes," she replies. "As a pediatrician, I am worried about _her _health and state of mind. I know that it hasn't even been five months, but she still seems to be grieving deeply. More than that, she doesn't seem to be expressing her feelings at all."

I sigh.

"I think about that sometimes," I reply. "But she really is a very self-contained child. She is very much like her father in temperament. She has a natural stoicism that doesn't allow her the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. She seems to be resigned to the fact that life has been tough on her."

"I can see that in Jason certainly," she agrees. "But she is only ten years old. Yet, she seems so much older. The only times that she seems to be a little happy are when she is with Teddy, or her dog. And when she is with Teddy, she is always very watchful. At least with Magic, she seems a little more relaxed. He seems to comfort her."

"He does," I say. "That was why we wanted to bring him here. In fact, she was so distraught at the thought of losing him that Mr. Grey let him travel on the jet. In a crate of course, but he actually let him travel in the cabin rather than the cargo hold."

"Has she seen a counselor?" she asks.

"We tried, but she refused to talk," I sigh. "Then she and Jason tried together, but neither of them was able to talk."

"Have _you _tried going with her?" she asks.

"We've never considered that," I reply. "I suppose that we could try if you thought that it would help."

"I think that it would," says Grace. "I think that Sophie may want to reach out to you on an emotional level, but she doesn't know how. And she is very shy, even with you and Taylor. At her age, she needs to have, at the very least, a mother figure to take care of her. Lets face it, puberty is right around the corner and I don't see Taylor stepping up to help her through it."

"No," I say with a little smile. "I can see Jason going into full retreat on that issue. To be honest, I've been so worried about getting her through the present that the future hasn't even been on the radar."

"Don't feel bad about it. You have had a lot on your plate for the past couple of months," says Grace. "For everything that you are doing for my family, the very least that I can do in return is help you with yours. You will never replace her mother, but you will need to be there for her. Look at Ana and Ray."

"Yes, I see what you mean," I reply. "But Ray is the only father that Ana has ever known."

"True," she says. "But she is not his biological child. And I know as well as anyone that it is more than biology that makes a parent. The situation that you have here is not ideal for raising a child. So you will need to be a little creative to make it work. Families come in all shapes, sizes, and configurations these days. Just because you don't have a traditional Mom, Dad, and kids all in the house together after work and school are finished, doesn't mean that you should give up. It is another thing for you to discuss with a counselor."

"Thank you, Grace," I say sincerely. "I appreciate any help that you can give me. I just want to do the best that I can for her."

Grace smiles warmly. I can see why Ana loves her so much and places so much trust in her. She is a very special woman. I find myself looking at her with new eyes. I believe that I have found a wonderful role model for myself. After all, she and Carrick raised three children and still kept their high-powered careers going.

As the sleepy afternoon continues, I return to the apartment for a bit to do some of our household chores while things are at a lull over in the big house. Before I know it, Sophie is coming in and it is time for us to return.

"Did you have a good time at Sara's house?" I ask her.

"Yes," she replies. "But I missed Magic and Teddy and everyone back here."

She is sitting on the floor scratching behind the ears of a very happy Magic. She looks wistful.

"I wish that Mr. Grey would let him in the house," she says softly. "He's a such good dog really."

"As dogs go," I say. "He is a very good dog. But Mr. Grey doesn't care how good he is. If he's a dog, he has to stay out."

She looks at me sadly. I am at a loss for words. I want to comfort her, but I don't even know where to start. I sit down on the floor beside her and notice that there are tears in her eyes. Without thinking, I begin to stroke her long blonde curls. She chokes a little bit and gasps.

"I just want my Mommy, Gail!" she finally blurts out. "I miss my Mommy so much!"

Suddenly, she throws her arms around me and starts crying into my shoulder. I automatically hold her in my arms tightly. As soon as she realizes that I am there to comfort her, she sobs even harder. Magic starts to whimper and nudges her elbow. She doesn't even notice.

It has been months since she has cried, that we know of anyway. When the news came, she was hysterical. Later during the wake and funeral, she stood placidly while the tears rolled down her cheeks. But since then, nothing. Now it seems like all the tears that she has been holding back for the past four months are flowing forth.

I don't try to quiet her. When she is spent, she will finally stop. And when she does, I will call Grace and tell her that we won't be back tonight. With Shonda back and Ana doing better, they can manage without me for a night. And when Jason returns from Grey House, I am going to try to convince _him _to stay home with. If necessary, I will not hesitate in using my new secret weapon, Grace.


	29. Revelations

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: This chapter was very hard to write and it may be to read. I have had it in my mind for a couple of weeks now, mostly because I had to think my way through the details. But I have finally completed the build up and decided where to take it a couple of days ago. **

**And to the reviewer who asked: Nothing will be glossed over in this story.**

**Chapter 23: Revelations**

Carla is only in my house for a couple of hours and she is already driving me nuts. She has been plying me with questions about Ana and her "mystery condition" for the past two hours. The questions are interspersed with random comments about her own life and what she and Bob are up to. I am glad that I am staying at Christian's for the time being.

Since Carla has arrived first, Charlotte wants to start by speaking with her. When we told her that Charlotte, who was treating Ana, was a famous doctor, she immediately went out and bought all of her books. According to Bob, she has read approximately half of one. She is terribly impressed with Charlotte's resume and can't wait to meet her. Luckily, Charlotte is eager to meet her also, although not for the same reason.

Ana has not been terribly forthcoming about her childhood and teen years, mostly dodging all questions by claiming that her life was boring. Yet, she has been very open about her college years and then her relationship with Christian. But she will only speak in the most general way about her life before the age of eighteen. This is why Charlotte thinks that she is either hiding, or refusing to acknowledge, something.

We use my study as a place for our conversation. Most people are surprised when they walk in, because my desk is always messy with papers and files and the shelves are so crammed with books and medical journals that they are spilling out on the floor. In fact, before Carla came, I had to clear off a chair for her to sit on. I put on a very organized and controlled persona to my patients, but am really most comfortable working amid my clutter. My office at work is certainly much neater and that is probably why I prefer it work at home.

When the three of us sit down, Carla looks eagerly at Charlotte.

"So you are world famous!" she exclaims. "Leave to Christian to provide Ana with the best."

Charlotte looks back at her calmly.

"I would say that I am nationally known for my work," she answers. "As for being the best, I would say that Ana and I work well together. That's what really matters. I have a problem with the word famous because it implies celebrity. I'm not in this for the glory, so to speak."

Carla pouts in response. As usual, Charlotte has cut to the heart of the matter. The last thing that she needs is for Carla to be star-struck. Personally, I think that she is fighting a losing battle. I have no doubt that Carla is looking forward to telling her friends back home that she met the famous Dr. Charlotte Tyler. Hopefully, she won't explain the how and why of it.

"Tell me, Carla," says Charlotte getting down to business. "Has Ana had any medical issues in the past, either physical or mental?"

"Not that I can think of," she replies. "She was always a very healthy child. But surely you have her health records."

"Well," Charlotte hedges a little. "I have her medical records from the age of eighteen on. They begin with the compulsory physical that she had before she entered college. I also have her records of her college years and beyond."

"Are you saying that I didn't take her to the doctor?" says Carla more sharply than necessary.

"No, I am not," answers Charlotte soothingly. "But when you moved to Texas, you brought all of her records from birth to that point to her doctor there. They were never sent back to Montesano. Ana remembered the name of her doctor, but the practice is no longer in existence. No one knows what happened to the records that were not claimed by the patients. Therefore, we have to rely on what you can tell us."

"Oh," replies Carla, a bit mollified. "So then it's Ray's fault because he never got them back."

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. At least Charlotte is unruffled.

"This conversation is not about assigning blame," she says quietly. "All I want is information about Ana's medical background prior to the age of eighteen. For example, did she have all of her shots?"

"Of course she did," says Carla, not completely losing the edge in her voice. "She was first on Frank's and then Ray's medical insurance through the army. They keep track of that stuff. Why don't you call them?"

"I have already checked," replies Charlotte evenly. "Her records transferred from them to her pediatrician after Ray decided not to reenlist the last time. But this avenue of conversation is not productive. Let's all agree to drop it."

"Okay," she says reluctantly.

"Now," continues Charlotte in a cool, professional manner. "Perhaps you could answer a few questions about your own background. After Ana was born, did you experience any postpartum symptoms or baby blues as they were then called?"

Carla is quiet for a minute as she struggles internally. Finally she speaks.

"My husband died the day after my daughter was born, while he was on a training mission down in Yakima," she states. "It was a complete shock. He was only a year older than I was, barely a few days older than twenty. I was alone with my day old daughter. Of course I was scared."

"Did you have your parents for support?"

"No," she answers tersely.

"I don't mean to intrude, but will you tell me why?" asks Charlotte.

I notice that she is purposely keeping her tone cool and detached. No doubt she does not want Carla to think that she is probing for curiosity sake. I have to admit that I have always wondered why Ana had no grandparents in her life, not to mention aunts, uncles, or cousins.

"I was an only child," she says. "As for my parents, they were not interested in my life. Frank and I got married six months before Ana was born. I was only eighteen. All of that did not please them."

"And even after your husband passed away they had no interest in either you or their granddaughter?" she asks.

Carla is silent for a long moment.

"I prefer not to revisit that time of my life," she says flatly. "It has nothing to do with Ana right now."

"I'm sorry that I am making you revisit what are clearly very painful memories for you," replies Charlotte sympathetically. "But I need to reconstruct this time for your daughter's sake. Very often, a predictor of postpartum depression is if it was suffered by a woman's mother or grandmother. There is a genetic component."

"I was sad," Carla finally admits. "But nothing out of the ordinary for someone grieving for the loss of her beloved husband. Frank was perfect. We were meant to be together. Even if Ana hadn't come along . . . early, sooner or later we would have married each other."

"Can you explain what you mean by perfect?" asks Charlotte. "It sounds as if you were both very much in love."

"We were," answers Carla. "Like I said, he was the most wonderful man in the world. He was stationed at Fort Lewis, near Tacoma. That was where I grew up. After I finished high school, I went to work as a waitress in a local diner. Frank and I met when he was on leave. He came into the restaurant where I was working with a couple of his buddies. He stayed after they left to take me out when my shift was over. It was love at first sight."

She stops for a moment, a soft smile coming over her face as she recalls this happy time.

"Even my parents liked him. Until I got pregnant that is. Whenever he had leave, he would come and stay with me at my place. Well, nature took its course and Ana made her presence known. Then they hated him. And they hated me. They kicked me out of their lives. Frank insisted that we get married right away. We went to the base chaplain and he took care of it. Frank was very good about taking care of things like that."

"Why the rush?"

"It was Frank's idea," she explains. "Not mine. I wouldn't have even thought about it. He was concerned that I get the best pre-natal care that I could. If we were married, then I would be covered under his army health insurance. Since I wasn't in college, I wasn't covered under my parents' plan. That's why he was perfect. He thought about all that stuff. He only wanted the best for Ana and I."

She stops talking and tears fill her eyes. It is clear that she truly loved this man. And, that for a nineteen-year old, he was mature and thoughtful. That is obviously where Ana got those attributes. Charlotte allows her time to collect herself and then encourages her to continue.

"What about Frank's parents?" she prompts. "How did they feel about their granddaughter?"

Carla's face hardens.

"They couldn't have cared less," she replies bitterly. "I never even met them. They judged me as some slut who got knocked up to trap their precious son into marriage. They lived in South Dakota, some little town in the Black Hills where they ran a curio shop for the tourists who were visiting Mount Rushmore. They were very proud of Frank because he had graduated from high school and was making a career for himself in the army. They decided that I messed all that up for him."

"So they have never seen Ana?" asks Charlotte.

"No," she says briefly. "Frank always claimed that once Ana was born, he would bring us back to South Dakota to meet them. He said that with a little time, they would love both of us. He was an only child, so he thought that they would not be able to turn their backs on their only grandchild."

"Was he right?"

"We'll never know now, will we?" she replies. "They blamed me when he died. They said that he died because he wasn't completely focused on his training exercise. He was distracted by _us._ The army said that it was another guy's fault. Frank was in the wrong place at the wrong time. They got their own copy of the report, but it still didn't change their minds. It was still all my fault."

I notice the sudden switch from the adjective "our" to "my." There is obviously more to this story than she is telling, but Charlotte still has more to find out. And there are still some minefields to be crossed, so she lets it drop.

"What about your parents?" she asks. "Didn't _they _offer to help you out."

Now Carla looks bitter.

"Oh, yeah, they offered," she answers. "But there were too many strings attached. And then they decided that I wasn't capable of raising Anastasia on my own. They threatened to file for custody if I didn't come home with her. Luckily Ray was there. He married me and they couldn't do anything."

"So Ray was your savior?"

"Yes, I don't know what we would have done without him," she says, her voice finally softening. "After we were married, we started the adoption proceedings immediately. That is how Anastasia got his name. It wasn't just for convenience sake. We were still afraid that my parents would try to take her away from me"

"So then Ray is really more than her stepfather," comments Charlotte. "Legally that is. Does Ana know that he adopted her?"

"No," she says. "There was no reason to tell her that. And she never questioned why the three of us all had the same name. I think that she decided that it was a matter of convenience."

I find this all very odd. Why shouldn't Ana know that the man she loved like her own father was really her own father. As an adoptive parent myself, I know that my children view me as their "real" mother, even Christian who knows the most about his parentage and has met his biological father. I exchange a glance with Charlotte, but she looks away. This is not a point to discuss at the moment.

"Just to fill in the blanks, how did you meet Ray?" she asks.

"Ray was stationed at Fort Lewis too," she answers. "He was from Montesano, which is why we eventually settled there. He and Frank were in the same unit. They weren't really friends, but Ray was such a decent guy, that he came to the small memorial service that the base chaplain had for Frank. He stuck around to talk to me."

"What did you talk about?"

"It was mostly about Frank's parents," she says. "Even though I was his wife, they wanted to bring his body home to bury in South Dakota. They made that decision and I couldn't say much about it. The death benefits had not come through yet and I did not have the means to pay for the funeral arrangements. I let them take him, but then they told me that they didn't want me there. They thought that Ana and I would 'sully' his sterling reputation."

I feel sorry for her. I cannot imagine how awful it would have been for her to hear that. No wonder Ray stepped up so quickly to help her. He is one of the most decent men that I have ever met. Any decent person would be outraged by the callous treatment she received from the Lamberts. I wonder if Ana knows about this.

"Have you ever told Ana about this?" asks Charlotte.

Carla hems and haws and then says, "Sort of."

"So then," says Charlotte, avoiding what is obviously a painful topic. "You and Ray fell in love."

Carla is silent for a long moment.

"I'm not sure that love is the right word for it," she says slowly, now looking almost guilty. "Ray was in love with me and with Ana of course. I would say that I was more 'in like,' you might say, with him. He was very protective, and Ana and I both needed protecting. He took good care of us. I guess that I loved him for that, but it was nothing like I felt for Frank. I don't think that I will ever feel the same way about anyone as I did about Frank."

"You and Ray were married for about sixteen years," continues Charlotte. "Why did the marriage break up?"

Carla looks annoyed.

"I'm not prying," says Charlotte quickly. "I am trying to get a clearer picture of Ana's life. Any clues that you can give me are helpful."

"Ray and I didn't break up so much as we drifted apart," she admits. "While he was in the army, we managed pretty well. I was busy raising Ana and he was busy with his army duties. When he left, we moved back to Montesano. I have to admit that I hated it there. Ray was around more, Ana got older, and I found myself at loose ends. Ray and I really didn't have much in common. And while he was protective, he wasn't too sympathetic about my feelings."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I kept trying to keep myself busy doing all sorts of different things," she says. "But he was bothered by the fact that I didn't stick with anything. I guess that I have kind of a short attention span. We had never had any great passion in our marriage. Ray isn't really the romantic type. Then I met Steve."

"Steve Morton, your third husband?"

"Yes," she replies, with an interesting look on her face. "Steve was everything that Ray wasn't. He was dashing and romantic. I couldn't help myself. We had an affair."

"Did Ray find out?"

"Yes," she says, rolling her eyes. "But he didn't get angry. He was hurt and almost immediately forgave me. But I didn't want his forgiveness. I wanted my freedom. So he agreed to a divorce and once it was final, I married Steve. It was about a month later."

"How did Ana take it?"

"She was confused," replies Carla suspiciously. "What did she tell you?"

"That she was confused," answers Charlotte. "And she was sad that Ray was hurt. And she was sad to leave Montesano. It was the only home that she had ever known and Ray was the only father that she ever knew."

"Well, I knew that at the time," she answers, almost defensively. "But she was _my _daughter and I wanted her with me. She came to Texas reluctantly, I know. But when I saw how much she missed her home and the fact that she wasn't settling in well at all, I let her go back to Ray."

"How did she like Steve?"

"Well enough I guess," replies Carla with a shrug. "I think that she mostly didn't like him because he wasn't Ray."

"How did Steve feel about her?"

Carla now has a very interesting look on her face. After a minute or two of consideration, she finally replies.

"Steve wanted to be a father to her, but Ana rejected him."

"Because he wasn't Ray."

"Of course," she says.

"Did Steve have anything to do with her decision to return to Montesano?" Charlotte asks carefully.

"Why would he?" Carla shoots back. "Ana stayed as far away from him as she could."

Charlotte switched direction again.

"You were married to Steve for less than six months," she says quietly. "Why did you get divorced?"

Carla looks wary now. This is obviously a question that she has no desire to answer.

"The bloom was off the rose," she says dismissively. "We got married too quickly, before we really knew each other. Once the first blush of romance was over, we were done. It was a mutual decision."

Charlotte doesn't ask for more details.

"Did you return to Montesano?"

"There was no point," she says, clearly glad to be on safer ground. "Ana was going to be going away to school in a few months and I couldn't stand the constant rain. I decided to try my luck in Las Vegas. It was still booming at that time, right before the crash of 2008, and it was warm and sunny. That was where I met Bob."

"Your present husband?"

"Yes," she says, relaxing a bit more. "This time I was more careful. We lived together for two years before we married. We are still together."

She now looks triumphant, as if her final statement erases all of the uncomfortable aspects of her previous ones.

"How do you think that Ana has responded to all of the upheaval in your life?"

"Are you trying to blame me?" she asks.

"This is not about assigning blame," she says. "I need your perspective on this issue."

"Ask Ana."

"I have," she says patiently. "But I would like your take."

Suddenly, Carla explodes.

"I can see where this is going," she snarls. "I'm not as stupid as you think that I am. Ana is depressed and I am to blame. It always goes back to the mother, doesn't it? I divorced Ray and she didn't like Steve. I'm to blame because I was sad after her father died. Now you won't let me see her unless I pass your inspection. So, tell me. Did I pass?"

Charlotte looks at her calmly.

"I'm afraid that your last outburst has proven to me that it is not a good idea if you see Ana," she says honestly. "Ana does not wish to see you because she is afraid of your extreme emotions. This is a wish that I intend to honor."

"And of course you will let Ray see her because he has no emotions!"

"Now wait a minute . . . " I begin indignantly, but stop when Charlotte raises a hand.

"I have made no decision with regard to Ray," she replies. "I must speak to him first."

"Fine, talk to him!" she says, standing up suddenly. "I am done talking to you."

She stomps out of the room and we can hear her calling for Bob. The next thing that we know, she is shouting at Ray.

"Get out of my way!" she yells. "And watch what you say to that doctor. Don't you go blaming all of this on me!"

I quickly leave the room to greet Ray.

"I didn't know that you were here," I say apologetically. "May I introduce you to Dr. Charlotte Tyler?"

"Hello, doctor," he says uncomfortably. "Are you sure that you have to talk to me? I don't want to upset Carla anymore than she already is."

"I think that it would be pretty hard to do that," I say wryly. "But Charlotte needs all the information that she can get if she is going to help Ana. Your perspective is vital."

"If you say so," he says. "Thanks for helping with Ana, Dr. Tyler."

"Hello, Ray," answers Charlotte warmly, as she shakes the hand that he offers. "Please call me Charlotte. I appreciate the fact that you are willing to speak with me. Could we talk now?"

"Now is as good a time as any," he agrees easily. "I'll try to help, but I don't know how much I can tell me."

"Probably more than you realize," she replies seriously and leads us back to my office.

Ray looks around curiously.

"This your place, Grace?" he asks. "I wouldn't have figured you for one who was such a slob."

I laugh at his blunt honesty. But that's Ray through and through. He says what he means and means what he says. However he is also very taciturn. If Carla wants him to keep her secrets, he will. Charlotte is going to have to make a strong appeal to his love for Ana. After we are seated, Charlotte begins her questioning.

"So you only met Carla after Frank passed away," she comments.

"That's about right," he replies. "But I sure as hell heard enough about her. I never saw any guy so 'gaga' over a gal as Frank was over her. Couldn't stop talking about her some days. Was real excited about the baby coming too. You should have seen him when he came back after she was born. Couldn't say enough about how she was the prettiest little baby that was ever born. It was a real shame what happened the next day."

"For everyone involved I imagine," Charlotte remarks.

"For everyone involved," he agrees. "It sure was a real tragedy too. One minute Frank is with us, the next minute he's not. Stupid accident if you ask me. Fellow driving one of them big Humvees runs him down. Poor Frank never had a chance. I wouldn't have wanted to be the fellow that had to tell Carla. It's bad enough when you got to knock on the door, but going to a wife's bedside the day after she's given birth . . . "

He can't finish the thought.

"I met Carla at the memorial service," he continues after a minute. "Another tragedy that was. His parents practically steal the body away from her and tell her not to come see her own husband buried. Then her parents refuse to come. All of us in the unit went though, and a lot of guys not in the unit. Some of the guys didn't even know him. But once the story got around the base we was outraged.

"If we'd a known ahead of time about the money problems, we would have taken up a collection so that she could have buried him herself. But we took up that collection anyway, she was in no condition to figure out the money for herself. Not that she's ever been any good with money. We saw her through until the benefits came through. But she was helpless as a kitten."

"Did you fall in love with her then?"

"No, that came later," he explains. "I felt so bad that I helped her out anyway I could. But when her parents were going to try and take away Ana from her, I blew my stack. Then I realized that I had fallen in love with her. I asked her to marry me and then I adopted Ana. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love Ana more than my own life. And even after everything that's happened, I still love Carla. I guess that I just didn't know the right way to show her."

"What can you tell my about Carla's state of mind after Ana was born and she lost her husband?"

"There's no way to sugar coat it," he says. "She was bad off. Missed her husband of course and was worried about how she could care for the baby. I stuck close to her. She needed me."

Charlotte turns and gives me a slight nod.

"I know that this must be painful to talk about," says Charlotte. "But what can you tell me about her third husband?"

Ray's face darkens.

"I never did like that fellow," he says grimly. "Too flashy for my taste. He just about swept Carla right there off her feet. Giving her all kinds of expensive gifts. That was how I found out you know. She had all this fancy jewelry all of the sudden that I couldn't afford to buy her and she couldn't afford to buy for herself."

"Did you have a big argument?"

"Not as big as it could have been," he replies. "She did most of the yelling and I did most of the taking it. Made it sound like I had wrecked her life or something. She was totally crazy. I'd never seen anything like it before. When she demanded a divorce so that she could marry Steve, I didn't have any choice. I had to say yes."

Now he looks sad.

"So she packs up Ana and herself and they move out," he continues. "At least she didn't move in with Steve before they were married. The affair and divorce were enough of a scandal in a little place like Montesano. Annoyed the hell out if her, but she didn't want Ana to have to deal with it in school. Once they were married, they took off for Texas and brought Ana with them. It just about broke my heart to see that poor girl get on the plane. She didn't want to leave you know."

"Yes, I've figured that out," says Charlotte. "But we just found out that Ana is really your adopted daughter. Why didn't you help her make a stand to stay. She was old enough to choose which parent she wanted to live with. And since you had adopted her, you had the same custodial rights as Carla."

"Not by the divorce agreement," he replies. "I gave Carla everything that she wanted, including full custody of Ana. My lawyer told me that it was a mistake, but I didn't have the heart to fight it."

"Do you know why Ana returned to you?" she asks.

"Only what she told me," he answers. "She missed her friends, she missed her school, and she missed me. I didn't want to ask too many questions. They just upset her."

"What was she like when she came home?"

"She was quiet mostly," he replies. "You know, she was always kind of shy and quiet, but then even more so. She didn't go out much with her old friends. She didn't even go to her prom. Never dated either. I always thought that was kind of funny. You know, a pretty girl like that. But she never thought she was pretty."

"Did things improve after she went to college?"

"A bit," he says. "She made friends with Kate and Jose. She and Kate hit it off right away. It seemed a little strange because Kate was so pretty and popular. But she really liked Ana. And Jose was real good for her too. His Dad and I always hoped that they would get together. Of course that's what Jose wanted, but not Ana. She said that he was like her brother. Then she fell in love with Christian and that was it."

"How did you feel about that?"

"Mixed in the beginning," he admits. "Mostly because of Jose. But she loved him like anything and he loved her the same. And he wanted to take care of her. I guess that's what won me over. Ana needed someone like that. Christian is a good man. He's a good husband and a real good father. I'm glad how things turned out. But can I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course," replies Charlotte. "After all the questions that you have answered for me, it's the least that I can do for you."

"I don't really understand about this postpartum thing," he says. "Now I've heard of the baby blues. But what is this all about?"

"We're really talking about the same thing," answers Charlotte. "After a woman gives birth, there are all kinds of hormonal changes. Nobody knows exactly what causes the baby blues though. In Ana's case I think that it was more than the hormones. She has always been a bit insecure. One of the reasons that I asked about Carla is because sometimes there is a genetic component."

"Hmm," says Ray. "I can't really say much about Carla on that score. Any woman would be depressed if she lost her husband like that."

"I can understand how that would be hard to tell," she agrees. "But was Carla ever depressed after that?"

"I can't really answer that," he says cautiously.

"Has Ana ever shown signs of depression before?"

"Hard to say," he answers. "Maybe when she got back from Texas. But I always figured that it was because she had to leave her mother behind. It kind of makes sense that way."

"Yes, it does," replies Charlotte.

"So, Doc," he says. "Are you going to let me see my Annie?"

"If she wants to see you, I can't think of a reason why you shouldn't," she says. "She is mostly afraid that you will yell at her."

"Tell her to to worry," he says. "I'll be real gentle with her. I just want to see for myself if she is okay."

"I will tell her that," answers Charlotte and then she looks at her watch. "It's almost time for Grace to get the children. Maybe you want to wash up a bit before you see them."

"Sounds good to me," he says, clearly relieved to finally escape from our presence.

After he leaves, Charlotte looks at me.

"Did this help at all?" I ask.

"Both conversations were very helpful," she replies. "There are still some gaps to fill in, but I am hopeful that Ana may do that for us herself. It is unfortunate that the one time that she was pregnant, she gave birth so close to her husband's tragic death. It is impossible to know if Carla suffered from postpartum depression herself. I really want to know more about this third husband, but I think that I will have to wait for Ana to open up about that."

"You know," I say thoughtfully. "You might learn a few things by talking to Bob."

"I have already thought of that," she says. "But I suspect that he isn't going to want to talk to me after Carla gets to him. Of course, I know nothing about him."

"I can tell you what I know," I say. "He is very patient with Carla. He's a bit older than her, about ten years I'd say. He did well for himself recently in the stock market. He got out before the crash in 2008 and has managed his money very wisely. They spent about a year in Georgia, but then went back to Vegas. Neither one could stand the humidity."

"How does he feel about Ana?"

"I would say that he likes her as a friend," I say honestly. "By the time that he and Carla married, she was an adult and had always regarded Ray as her father. As far as I can tell, he has never even tried to interact as a stepfather. But just because he keeps his distance doesn't mean that he doesn't care about her."

"Well," she says. "I think that she feels the same way about him. But you had better get going. If the babies aren't here promptly as promised, I am sure that Carla will have something to say about it."

I look at my watch.

"Yes, she will," I reply. "I will make a lot of noise as I leave so that she knows that I am on my way."

I hop in the car to drive over. The plan is that Ryan will drive us over in the second SUV and then I will go back with them and stay there. I won't be sorry to leave Carla behind. Carrick is more than capable of fending for himself and Mia will no doubt assess the mood in the house and go stay with Ethan for the duration.

Gretchen has been living there while I am gone to take care of Carrick. She will have no trouble managing Carla. She mostly ignores her anyway. I am glad that Shonda comes back tomorrow. She always knows how to settle Ana down best. I begin to turn over everything that I have heard this afternoon in my mind. There have been a number of revelations, but I fear that the biggest one is yet to come.

What happened with Steve Morton that sent Ana running back to Ray?

**Dear readers: Try to be kind in your reviews. This is only my take on the whole history of Carla's marriages and their effect on Ana. The information in the books is sketchy at best. I don't expect everyone to agree with my interpretation. But based on how I am weaving it into **_**this **_**story, I stand by it.**

**For those of you who will want to point out that the dossier that Welch created for Anastasia Steele listed her place of birth as Montesano, please be aware that unless it was a home birth, she could not have been born in that city. There are no hospitals within the city limits of Montesano, as my research indicated. **

**Therefore, I felt free to give her a new birthplace in Tacoma. Fort Lewis is the closest army base to Montesano, but not close enough for Ana's father to ever have visited there without a complicated justification. It made much more sense that he met Carla in the city closest to his base.**


	30. Upheaval

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: The end of this update is very disturbing. The title says it all. Read at your own risk. Chapter 25 will be equally difficult to read, especially for someone who has experienced depression before, and is still "raw." Chapter 26 will include a recap of these events.**

**Chapter 24: Upheaval**

I am sitting in my room, anxiously awaiting my father's arrival. I am nervous as I await Ray's coming. I don't even know why. Ray has always been the "good guy" in my life, the stable one when Carla was off on one of her crazy kicks. No, it's not Ray. He understands and has promised not to yell at me. It's the questions that I have to ask him.

Did my mother suffer from postpartum depression after she had me? Will he tell me if she was ever depressed at any other point in her life?

I am fearful of the answers. If she did, then am I doomed to the same thing? Is there something in my genes that has caused this? Charlotte has assured me that even if there is a genetic component the good news is that I had no problems at all after Teddy was born. She does not think that this would necessarily repeat itself in subsequent pregnancies.

At any rate, forewarned is forearmed. She claims that there are a lot of things that can be done during and immediately after that would mitigate, if not prevent, this illness from reoccurring. I am holding on to that. I want more children. I want more brothers and sisters for Phoebe and Teddy to play with. Every time I watch them together, I know that they would happily welcome this. This is such a large house. It should be filled with the laughter of children.

But I also know that Charlotte has been questioning both Ray and Carla. She wants to know my background, my secrets. She hasn't told me anything about what they said. I know, however, that their conversations may have put her on the scent of some of those secrets. But some of them are not my secrets to tell. Is my loyalty misguided? I don't really know. I still can't face my mother and the tidal wave of emotions with which she would flood my mind.

Charlotte has told Mom that I won't see her. And Charlotte has not once convinced me to try and see her. Especially since she met her. Neither she nor Grace will say anything about the interview, but I'm sure that it was bad. I know how touchy Carla is about certain things. I have seen her switch from maudlin about my birth father to furious with Ray to defensive about husband number three to hero-worshipping Bob, all in a matter of minutes.

I am angry with her myself for trying to pry information from my two-and-a-half-year old son. He was confused, but fortunately not for long. He is blessed with a short attention span and equally short memory for these things. We almost immediately distracted him with the trains and it slipped his mind.

Charlotte spoke with her about that. She must have gotten through to her because she never mentioned it to Ted again. He would have told us if she had. She had three visits with the children and now she has gone back to Vegas with Bob, in Christian's corporate jet no less. He was only too happy to supply her with the means to get out of town. They didn't tell her that Ray was staying an extra day. They didn't tell her that he would get to see me. No one wanted to subject him to the rain of verbal abuse that would have followed.

None of them had expected her reaction. That's because they had only known her as my sweet, flaky, always impulsive, mother. She could be annoying and occasionally impossible, but never so obnoxious and mean-spirited. But they had never known her before she finally left Ray. She would hurl her vitriol at him when she thought that I was asleep, but I heard every word. And I knew that he had never responded in kind. That is Ray, patient and long-suffering Ray. And after all these years, I know that he still loves her.

I had hoped that the days of that erratic fury were over. Bob is so good to her, and good for her. He can't live up to the mythical hero that my mother imagined that my father had been. Of course, they had only been married six months. And they had both been so young. They had only lived within this illusion of that perfect first love. They had never known any conflict between them.

I have often asked myself if their love could have survived intact for all these past twenty-six years. It is impossible to discern from her tales of the nearly impossible perfection of Frank Lambert. How often when we were alone did she invoke his name with almost hushed awe? It was difficult to believe that such a paragon could have existed. But such is the nature of first love. Sooner or later all of our heroes prove that they have feet of clay.

I believe that it is good that Christian and I went through so many difficulties and disappointments so early in our relationship and marriage. They made us stronger and set the stage for the deep and abiding love that we share and will always share. If he put me through hell when I became pregnant with Teddy. And, well, I put him through hell with my constant harping on the topic of Elena. We have forgiven each other for those lapses and stood by one another through our later travails.

Christian learned this steadfast behavior from his parents, Grace and Carrick. It was later reinforced by his biological father Chris and his wife Melissa. I learned it from Ray. I some ways I even learned it from Carla. I am determined never to be like her. I want a marriage that will last, even if I married my first boyfriend only a few months after meeting him. I will fight for it and compromise for it. And I am slowly learning to accept the fact that Christian will never leave me.

The Wellbutrin, while it is not a silver bullet type of cure, has helped to chase away the shadows in my mind and clarify my thinking. Both Charlotte and Grace have warned me, however, that it only treats symptoms. Now that I am stronger, Charlotte wants me to open up more about my early, pre-college life. She refuses to believe that it was just boring and not worthy of mention.

"Ana," she said to me last night. "No life is boring. No life is without pain and trials. Most people are like you. You would never guess the memories of sadness and disappointment that they carry around with them. Everyone faces challenges. Scrape below the surface of any life and you will uncover both triumphs and tragedies, sorrows and joys.

"We are who we are because of both our inner selves and our experiences. Don't be fooled by the nature versus nurture debate. Our personalities are determined by both. You were born with a certain personality and then it was shaped and refined by your experiences. We all must learn to live with who we are."

"Are you saying that everyone needs therapy then?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "Some people get deal with life by talking to ministers or older, trusted friends who have seen a lot of life and can help them gain perspective. And most often, that is what people need to cope and move on, perspective."

"But why are my problems so extreme?" I asked feeling discouraged.

"I can't really say," she admitted. "I may never be able to. But as I assemble the various pieces of your life and we work through the brain chemistry and hormonal issues that may be present in your physiology, I hope to find a more definitive answer."

"Do you think that I will have to take medication all my life?" I asked, anxiously.

"I don't think so, although my natural inclination is to say never say never," she replied honestly. "My hope is that we can get you past this low point in your life and then you can quit the meds. It is possible for you to adapt your lifestyle so that you can achieve some of the benefits of the medicine without the drugs. For example, there are foods that you can avoid and others you can eat that will bolster your frame of mind. Exercise releases endorphins and they create a sense of well-being."

"So there is hope for me yet?" I ask.

"There has always been hope for you, Ana," she answered. "And you have something that many people don't have, the support of a loving family. And that family just begins with your husband and children."

"But does not include my mother," I qualified.

"Not at the moment," she said honestly. "Carla has some work to do herself. I think that Bob was just as surprised by her behavior as everyone else was. I spoke with him before they left, at his request. I told him that he needed to do everything that he could to get her the help that she needs. She is stubborn, but she is lucky that he truly loves her. He wants to see her happier, among other things, so that she can see you again. Her refusal to play a role in your recovery is costing her dearly.

"Even if your contact has been sporadic over the years, you are her only child. She presently fears two things: revealing and confronting a painful past and losing you. I cannot say for sure, but I suspect that when the latter exceeds the former in importance, she will get the help that she needs."

"I have always liked Bob very much," I admitted. "But now I like him even more. My mother _is _lucky to have him. I had always hoped that she and Ray would get together again. But that was more because I love Ray and hate to see him alone."

"He isn't as alone as you think," she said. "In my talks with him, I have discovered that the only prayer that he has of finding a woman to marry him is if he can find someone who had his passion for fishing and willingness to sit through endless hours of television sports. _You _are is family and so are Christian and the children. Not to mention Grace and her family. Ray is not the kind of man who needs a wife to be content. If he found one, I'm sure that he would marry her in an instant. But what do _you _think the chances are?"

"Slim to none," I answered without hesitation. "So he's not pining for Carla or holding the candle for her?"

"Hardly," she said. "Especially after her performance this weekend. He has done a very good job over the years of concealing his frustration, and sometimes anger, with her. Some of that is his nature. He is one of those people who does not wear his heart on his sleeve. But mostly it was for you. He never wanted nor wants for you to feel like you have to choose. He may not be your biological father, but he lives you with all the love that a parent feels for a biological child."

I always knew this intuitively. And, yes, I think, especially after that performance that I can see that he would no longer love her. Of course it hadn't been her first. She always did have a tendency to throw a tantrum, similar to Teddy's, when she wasn't getting her way. The main difference is that Teddy doesn't hold grudges. My thoughts are interrupted when the bell rings. I hear the new housekeeper, Joanna I think her name is, answering.

I get up from the rocking chair and Shonda enters the bedroom.

"Are you sure that you are ready for this, Ana?" she asks, her eyes betraying her concern. "There is still time to back out. Dr. Grace says that he will understand if you change your mind."

"I know he will," I reply. "But then I will feel like a coward."

"Uh-uh," she answers. "I haven't met anyone as brave as you in a long time. But you're still fragile, you know. You're just starting to get strong."

"Yes, I know," I say. "But I am ready for this. Besides, Christian will be there with me."

"I know, I know," she says. "Now do you want me to come down with you?"

"Shonda," I say. "Go take a nap. You've been fussing over me for the past three days. I will be fine."

"If you say so," she says reluctantly, but goes off to her room anyway.

I doubt that she will sleep. She will probably be reading, keeping a sharp ear out for any trouble. As I make my way downstairs, I am aware of Sawyer shadowing close behind me. He's another one who needs a break, but it is not a topic worth discussing. Talk about steadfast and loyal!

When I see Ray, standing uncomfortably waiting for me in the great room, I wonder why I ever made such a fuss about seeing him. He is looking at me cautiously as I descend the staircase, but his attention shifts when Christian comes out of his study to greet him.

"So, Ray," he says cheerfully. "How about those Seahawks?"

I am glad for the distraction and I suspect that Ray is too. This is Christian's way of helping us out. There is no simpler way of setting Ray at ease than to get him talking about sports or fishing. And Christian knows which topic is easier for me to listen to. Besides, there is a limit to how much one can say about a sports team. When it comes to fishing on the other hand . . .

So by the time I get there, Christian and Ray are already seated by the fire, and Joanna has been sent off for a couple of beers. Ray stands when I reach them. He carefully takes my hands and kisses my cheek. For Ray, this counts as an enthusiastic greeting.

"How are you doing, Annie?" he asks gently. "I've missed seeing you."

"I've missed you too, Dad," I say.

Suddenly feeling emotional, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tight. He is clearly at a loss, but he manages to pat me on the back and then steps back from me. He examines me closely.

"You've lost a bit of weight," he comments, but immediately qualifies the criticism. "I suppose that's good after the baby. I know how you girls worry about your figure. Not that you've ever had to before . . . "

Poor Ray is tangled up in his words. No doubt he has been told to avoid saying anything that might upset me. But his blunt honesty is one of his most endearing qualities.

"That's okay, Dad," I say and then quickly change the subject. "Haven't the kids grown?"

He smiles instantly.

"That little Teddy seems to get bigger and bigger every day," he says. "And boy is he talking up a storm. I can barely keep up with him the way he goes on about those trains. But who is this Auntie Shonda? I didn't know that you had an aunt named Shonda, Christian."

Christian and I laugh.

"Shonda is my nurse," I reply. "And Teddy adores her. They like to banter back and forth. Sometimes what they say even makes sense."

"Okay," says Ray uncertainly, uncomfortable because of the mention of the nurse, I think.

"How about Phoebe?" I ask.

His face lights up.

"Now she's the prettiest little baby that I've seen since you, Annie," he replies. "Now your Teddy was a good-looking baby too, but I wouldn't call him pretty. No, he was handsome."

Once again, poor Ray is trying to cover up what he thinks is a _faux pas._ And once again, Christian bails him out.

"I like to think that old Ted looks like me," he says lightly. "And Phoebe looks like Ana. If that's the case, then Phoebe is definitely prettier than Teddy. So tell me. How as your Christmas with Jose Sr.?"

It's funny how we still refer to Jose's father as Jose Sr. It's as if that's his whole name. You can't help but say the whole thing, like "Charlie Brown" or something. But I am glad to hear that Ray had a good time. I am glad that Christian is here because it takes the burden of conversation off of Ray and I. We both have a tendency lean towards companionable silence. And I have not been much of a conversationalist recently anyway.

The afternoon drifts on this way. We talk of different things, sharing stories of Christmases past and catching up together. The conversation feels very _normal. _But I am growing anxious. For some reason, I don't want to ask Ray my questions in front of Christian. It's a little embarrassing not to know these kinds of things about your own mother. I get my chance when Christian has to take a call in his study.

"Ray," I say urgently in a low voice. "Did Mom ever suffer from postpartum like me?"

"Now, I'm not supposed to talk about that, Annie," he says. "That doctor of yours asked and I told her that we couldn't tell because she was so sad after Frank died."

"Please, Dad," I wheedle. "I'm not the doctor and I need to know."

"Well," he says reluctantly. "Your Mom was in bad shape there for a while. That's why I took care of her. She needed someone. Then, when your grandparents threatened to take you away, we got married. They were saying that she couldn't take care of a baby all by herself. But if she was married, they couldn't say a word. And it worked out, for the most part."

Christian comes back into the room and starts to talk about possibly doing some ice fishing. He obviously measured the level of intensity in the room the minute that he walked in and decided to diffuse it. And that leaves me more time to ponder what Ray just told. In fact, I always tend to go glassy-eyed when they all about fishing.

I think about what Ray told me. Carla was pretty badly off after she had me. I knew that. Then she almost lost me to her parents. I hadn't known that. And she married Ray so that she wouldn't lose me. I sort of knew that. My thoughts go back to the arguments that I heard right before their divorce, the arguments that I wasn't supposed to hear.

One night, Carla was ripping into Ray pretty good. She was angry because he was forgiving her for cheating on him. She didn't want forgiveness. She wanted a divorce. Ray wanted to try to work things out, for my sake. Carla didn't want any part of that.

"I married you for Ana's sake!" she yelled. "She needed a father. But now she's older. And Steve wants to take care of her. We don't need you anymore."

"Are you sure you really love him, Carla?"

"I love him a hell of a lot more than I love you," she retorted. "All you care about is fishing and sports. You never take me anywhere or buy me anything. And you're hardly romantic. When was the last time that you took me out for a candlelight dinner?"

Ray was silent. Even then I knew that candlelight dinners weren't his thing. He would rather go to a barbecue.

"I would never have married you if I didn't have to," she then hurled at him. "Steve is my chance to have everything that I didn't have with you."

"I know," he replied, the weight of his sorrow, evident in his voice.

And that wasn't the last battle like that. I hated to leave him, but it was a relief when we moved out. The divorce was pretty straightforward. He gave her everything that she wanted. He had looked so sad the day we left for Texas.

But I am now turning over the latest piece of information over in my mind. I always assumed that she had married Ray for more rests that to just give me a father. I figured that while he was helping her through the early grief, they fell in love. It took about fifteen years for her to figure out that he wasn't what she wanted. She needed all the romance that Ray couldn't give her.

My mind continues to process this. Carla only married Ray because she was afraid of losing me. I forced her into a marriage that turned into a disaster. Then she was so eager to get out of it, that she fell in love with the first man who offered her the things that she wanted. Steve represented everything that she wanted. If she hadn't married Ray so quickly, for my sake, maybe she would have had time to find the right man for her.

I knew that she was unhappy with Ray and that he was oblivious. It was a great shock to him when Steve came along. But she had stuck with Ray because of me. Then she jumped into a disastrous marriage, because of me. She only found Bob, who has finally made her happy, because I left her.

What a show she made when I went back to Montesano! All the while, I knew that she thought that once I was out of the picture, things would get better with Steve. At the time, I could see that she was crying crocodile tears at the airport. It was a relief to get back to Ray and his calm state of mind.

It was no great shock when she and Steve divorced. I had been hurt when she didn't come back to Montesano. And then I was even more hurt when she didn't even try to convince me to come to Vegas with her. I would have come to take care of her. But I guess now that she didn't want a teenage daughter cramping her style. She still in her mid-thirties and looked young for her age.

But all those years when I knew that she was miserable, I had no idea that it was my fault. And then there was Ray. Would he have been happier if he hadn't gotten stuck with Carla for my sake?

I can feel my thinking getting abstracted and my head is starting to hurt. I am tired and I have a headache. Christian, always sensitive to my moods, decides that I am tired out. He tells Ray that I have had enough visiting for one day. Then, he offers to walk him out to his car. No doubt he wants to talk to him without me there.

My head is pounding, so I go up to my room. Phoebe isn't there, I can hear her playing in the nursery with Teddy and Sophie. That is another life that I am ruining. Sophie shouldn't have to play nanny to my children. She had enough of her own grief to deal with. Just the other day, she had a meltdown.

Should I get Shonda?

No, why should I bother anyone else. I'll just take a couple of Advil and go to bed. Maybe when I wake up, life won't look so bad. Boy, does my head hurt.

I look in the bathroom, but there are no pills to be found, no Advil, not even Tylenol. Oh, that's right. They took all the pills away. Then I remember my travel bag. I bet it still has the Tylenol that I brought to Aspen with me when we made our last trip. Nobody thought of that.

I go into my closet and pull out the bag. Yes! They must have forgotten to look here. There it is, an unopened bottle of thirty pills. I really hate Tylenol. It is almost useless for pain relief. But when I was pregnant, it was all the doctor would let me take.

I pull out the bottle absentmindedly and get a glass of water from the bathroom. I am still thinking about my mother and how I ruined her life, how I've ruined everyone's life. Maybe that's all I'm good for. Some women are home wreckers. I am a life wrecker. Oh, my head feels like it is going to split apart! And I am so tired. How am I going to sleep if my head hurts so much?

I open the bottle and pour the pills into my hand. Maybe if I take more than two, it will make this headache go away. Stupid Tylenol. Why can't they make a medicine that works? I take the pills and lie back to fall asleep. My head still hurts. I feel like I am seeing the colors and lights again. Stupid Wellbutrin! Why can't they make a medicine that works without side effects?

I close my eyes. Then I hear voices calling me.


	31. Aftermath

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 25: Aftermath **

I don't like the way that Ana looks when she goes back upstairs after her father's visit. I am not sure, but I think that something he said has upset her. It was something that he said while Mr. Grey was on the phone. He barely left them for two minutes. What could they have possibly said to each other in that short amount of time? But their voices were so low that I couldn't hear them.

I silently follow her upstairs and hear her go into the bathroom. Then I hear her go into her closet. I assume that she has decided to change into more comfortable clothes. She had dressed up a bit to meet with her father. I stand in the hallway at my usual spot. I can hear the sounds of the children's voices from Teddy's room. Then I hear a sound that sends shivers down my spine.

From Ana's room, I hear the sound of pills poured from a bottle. Within seconds, I bolt into the room.

"Shonda!" I yell loudly.

Ana is curled up in the bed with her arm over her face. I see the empty Tylenol bottle and glass on the bed beside her.

"Ana!" I shout, as I punch the alarm button on the wall.

Shonda hustles in quickly.

"Oh, dear Lord!" she exclaims. "Sawyer, what did that poor child do now?"

She picks up the empty bottle.

"Tylenol," she says tersely. "New bottle. Thirty pills. Took them all. Get the car now."

"What?" asks Grey as he comes into doorway.

"Car!" I say quickly and begin the pick her up.

Taylor is behind him and rushes out. Grey pushes me out if the way and picks her up himself. When she is moved, Ana begins to mumble.

"What? What? Just Tylenol. It's okay."

"Just Tylenol, my ass," replies Shonda. "Thirty pills won't kill her, but could cause permanent liver damage. We gots to get her stomach pumped."

We race down the stairs as Gail is coming up.

"I've got the children," she says quickly, but no one notices.

Charlotte is waiting by the car when we get there. I ride shotgun with Taylor up front; while the nurse and doctor ride in the back with Grey and Ana.

"Don't worry, Ana," he says, trying to sound calm. "We'll take care of you."

"Just a headache, just Tylenol," she mutters.

"What did she take?" asks Charlotte.

"It looks like she took thirty," Shonda answers. "It was a new bottle, you could see the wrappings. They were all gone."

"Just a headache," repeats Ana. "Tylenol sucks. Never works."

"Where did the pills come from?" asks Charlotte. "I thought that you had secured everything, including the children's Tylenol in a lockbox."

"We did," I say from the front. "These were in her travel bag."

"Damn!" swore Grey. "I forgot about that! Ana brought them to Aspen. She was complaining that Dr. Greene wouldn't let her take Advil while she was pregnant. I guess we missed them."

"If it had been Advil," comments Charlotte. "It could have been kidney damage. People don't realize how toxic these painkillers are in high dosages."

"We'll be there soon," says Taylor.

"The sooner, the better," answers Charlotte. "We need to get her stomach pumped before too many of the toxins reach her bloodstream."

Thanks to Taylor's insane driving we are soon at the hospital. He drives right up the the emergency room door and Grey rushes out with Ana. In less than a minute, she's on a stretcher and in an exam room. Once he hears the problem, the doctor calls for a nurse.

"You don't want to stay for this," he tells Grey.

"I am it leaving my wife," replies Grey forcefully.

When the nurse returns with the tube and some equipment, she shuts the curtains and we walk into the waiting room. Charlotte is at the desk explaining everything. Taylor, Shonda, and I sit down. I am finally able to breathe normally again, even the sight of that tube makes _me _feel sick to my stomach. After that extended adrenalin rush, I am exhausted, but still on alert. Until the word comes from the doctor that Ana is fine, I will not relax.

The ER doctor returns and talks to Charlotte in tones too low to be heard. I can feel Shonda shifting around beside. I suspect that she wants "in" on the conversation, but can't say anything until she is asked. The doctor and Charlotte seem to be disagreeing, but finally she nods and sighs. The doctor goes back towards the exam room and she comes over to fill us in. Out of habit, Taylor and I stand up.

"Sit down please, you two," she says with a roll of the eyes as she takes a seat.

"What's up?" asks Taylor.

"They pumped her stomach, but it appears that some of the pills dissolved," she answers. "They want to flush out her system, detox her, as a precaution. They want to keep her overnight. It will also mean that the Wellbutrin will be clears from her blood stream."

"That's not so good, is it?" asks Taylor.

"We will start up the Wellbutrin once her system is clean," she replies.

"How does Mr. Grey feel about her staying overnight?" asks Shonda.

"He's okay with it," answers Charlotte. "You will stay with her too of course, in the same set up as before. However, there is a complication."

"Doctor saw her records from the last time?" asks Shonda.

Charlotte nods. Shonda sighs and stares straight ahead. Taylor and I look at each other.

"What did we miss?" asks Taylor.

"Since this is the second time in a little over a month that Ana has been brought in here with what looks like a possible suicide attempt," she say. "He wants to hold her for 72 hours."

"Can't you override?" asks Taylor.

"He's the admitting and technically I don't have the authority," she says. "But I'm not even sure that I should. Maybe it _would _be better if she stayed here longer"

"Why is that?" asks Taylor.

"The point that the doctor made was that if Ana was really safe at home, this would not have happened," she says. "He may be right. A hospital room where she has no access to anything that we don't put in there is the safest place."

"I'll sweep the room myself," says Taylor. "Gail will help. She probably knows every nook and cranny where things could potentially be stowed away. And we'll tighten her security. If we need to, we can put a bed in there for Shonda."

"That may not be enough," replies Charlotte. "One of the doctors on staff here will need to evaluate her before that let her go. When she wakes up, we have no idea what condition she will be in."

"You released her the last time," says Taylor.

"Technically, John Flynn did that," she answers. "In that case, Mr. Grey had used his influence to make him the admitting physician. However, right now he is in no state to start pulling strings."

"What state is he in?" asks Shonda.

"I would say the state of shock," she replies. "If finding her semi-conscious wasn't bad enough, the sight of her with the tube . . . it must have been torturous for both of them. One of you should call Flynn. Christian is very busy blaming himself for not removing the pills from her bag."

"Do you think that she tried to take her own life?" I ask.

"No," she says. "I think that she had a headache and rather than tell anyone decided to treat herself. I think that she did so carelessly. My hypothesis is that she had something on her mind that had clouded her judgment. And I suspect that it was something her father said."

"Sawyer?" asks Taylor.

"Mr. Grey was with them the entire time," I say. "In fact he did most of the talking with Mr. Steele. But . . . he did leave for a about two minutes. Ana asked her father one question and he gave a brief answer. They were both speaking too quietly for me to hear. Then Mr. Grey returned."

"How was Ana after that?" she asks.

"Well, I really didn't notice much of a difference," I reply. "She was still very quiet and kind of staring off into the distance. Then she started to lean her head into her hand. Mr. Grey noticed and suggested that the visit had been long enough. He went out with Mr. Steele to his car and Ana went up to her room."

"You didn't follow her very closely," comments Taylor.

"Close enough," I answer. "I heard her go into the bathroom and then her closet. She is entitled to some privacy, you know."

"Of course, she is," says Charlotte in a soothing tone of voice. "When did you realize that something was wrong?"

"I heard the pills dropping out of the bottle," I say. "By the time I got in there, the empty bottle and water glass were beside her and she was curled up in a ball. I yelled for Shonda immediately."

"That's what I saw the minute I came in," says Shonda. "Sawyer hit the button on the wall and Taylor and Mr. Grey came in. There wasn't nothing else for it, but to bring her here. You know the rest."

"Shonda, since you've been back, have you noticed that she might have intended to do something drastic?" Charlotte asks.

"If I did, then you would have been the first person I told," she replies. "I thought that she was doing real well. She was eating, playing with the kids. I even got her to read a little bit. She wasn't too happy about her mother coming to visit. Even though she didn't have to see her, she was upset by what she said to Teddy. But she felt better about seeing her Dad. She called him her rock."

"How was she before he came?" asks Charlotte.

"She was real nervous, on edge like," replies Shonda. "I asked her if she wanted me to come down with her for the visit, but she says no."

Charlotte looks thoughtful.

"Okay, Sawyer," she says. "What did you observe when she met him?"

"I could tell that she was anxious," I answer. "As she was coming down the stairs. But once she went down to meet him, she seemed to relax. Like I said, she didn't say much, but she seemed attentive to the conversation."

"How was she after she spoke with her father alone, different?"

"Not much," I say. "I mean, I could tell that she was fading before then. I think that it took a lot of energy for her to prepare herself for the visit. Then she seemed to be trying to put on her best face. I thought that she just got tired."

"Did she seem at all more sad than before?" she asks.

"Not that I noticed," I reply. "And I was watching closely. If anything had seemed out of place, I would have called Shonda right away."

Suddenly, Taylor looks up and we see Grey moving towards us. He looks defeated.

"She's asleep," he says. "When they finish preparing her room, you will go up with her, Shonda."

"Yes, sir," answers Shonda with uncharacteristic respect. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. This is all my fault. I should have known that she was upstairs and gone to her right away."

"No," I say. "It's my fault. I should have gone for you right away."

"No," says Grey. "It's my fault. I went out to see Ray off and talk to him. I should have made sure that she was attended."

"No, but . . . " Shonda starts.

"Enough," says Charlotte sternly. "We can debrief later, but it will get us nowhere if we play this reverse blame game. Suffice it to say that all of us, including me, fell down today. I should never have let her convince me not to be present. She didn't want Ray to feel uncomfortable. I didn't want her to think that I didn't trust her. Yes, I let her play that card on me. But what's done is done. I am more concerned about where we go from here."

"Shonda and Sawyer are staying," he says bluntly.

Shonda and I look at each other. There was never any question that we were staying.

"Mr. Grey?" says an orderly. "We are ready to move your wife."

Grey nods to Shonda and I.

"If she wakes up, tell her that I will be right up," he orders.

We follow the gurney with Ana on to the same room as last time. As Shonda settles Ana in, I make my usual sweeps of the room. When we are both done, we move away from the bed.

"What the hell you looking for?" asks Shonda curiously.

"Oh, bugs, hidden cameras, possible explosive devices," I shrug. "The usual."

"Usual for what?" she asks. "Did I ever tell you that you folks was paranoid?"

"Just about every day," I say with a smile. "Welcome to the world of the rich and famous."

"Mmm, hmm," she says. "I'll stay right here in my world of the poor and unknown. How the hell can you folks live like this?"

"We do," I shrug. "It's better than before, when I was in the Army, Special Ops. Compared to that, this is nothing."

"I guess," she says. "How did you come to work for Mr. Christian anyway?"

"It was about three and a half years ago," I reply. "At the time, Mr. Grey was being stalked by an ex-girlfriend. She was pretty scary. She even tried to pull a gun on Ana. After that, since Mr. Grey and Ana were engaged and getting married, he decided that she needed the same kind of close security that he had. Since Taylor and I had worked so well together, I was the first choice."

"How did Ana take that?" she asks. "That woman has a mind of her own."

"Yes, she does," I say emphatically. "And she wanted no part of me. For a while, we hired a female as her close security, but Ana figured out how to get around her. She was fired and then I took over again."

"Did she ever get away from you?" she asks curiously.

"Once," I say. "About three years ago, a guy with a grudge kidnapped Grey's sister Mia. Ana nearly got herself killed. She did learn her lesson. She was very cooperative up to now."

"Today?"

"And a month ago," I admit. "But in those cases, she wasn't trying to be crafty and get away from us. She was, or rather is, sick."

"Yes, indeed," she says. "In fact . . . "

But she doesn't get to finish because Grey walks in.

"Quit gossiping Sawyer and get to work," he orders tensely. "Did you sweep the room?"

"Yes, sir," I reply as I stand. "It's clear."

"Good," he says. "Now go out to your post in the hallway."

When I get there, Taylor is standing there grimacing.

"It's going to be a long night," he says.

"Where is Charlotte?" I ask.

"She called in Dr. Trevelyan," he replies. "And Flynn. She wants them to let Ana go tomorrow if she wakes up and is coherent and in better spirits. The attending physician is being stubborn. He wants to keep the hold in place regardless."

"Does he know who he's dealing with?"

"Of course," he says. "He seems to be on some kind of a misguided mission to save Ana from us. He thinks that it is safer for her here than at home."

"Could he be right?" I ask hesitantly.

"Maybe," he admits. "But it's a close call. Charlotte doesn't want to see Ana lose any ground because she is depressed about being in the hospital. We aren't really sure if she even realizes what she did. That's almost scarier than if it was intentional."

"Why?"

"It means that she is not fully in control of her thoughts and actions," he says. "As we speak, Gail is going through the house with a fine tooth comb looking for anything else that she could use to hurt herself, and not just pills. I've called a couple of the new guys in to help her. I'm afraid that we gave her too much freedom too fast. Things will have to tighten up at home."

"I figured," I say and take my seat.

Taylor walks down the hall to make a few phone calls. For the first time all afternoon, I have a chance to sit back and consider what happened. Charlotte is right. We all let our guard slip. And we let it slip because Ana was restless. This has to change. This is the second chance that we have let her talk us into lightening up on her security and it happens again.

And this is the second time that I have been there hair too late to prevent tragedy, but just in time to avoid the consequences. I don't like close calls like this. These are the kind of things that keep me awake at night wondering what I could have done differently. I've run into crazy before, but this isn't really crazy. This is a sick woman whose sense of her personal safety is all messed up. There are times when she doesn't even seem to care.

Ana Grey is one of the best people that I know. But for some reason she is always down on herself. How can someone so selfless and caring consider herself a bad wife, mother, and daughter? Doesn't she realize how much everyone loves her? It's like she had some kind of a blind spot when it comes to looking at herself and how wonderful she is.

I sigh. All that I can do is stand guard and be as watchful as I can. I will let nothing happen to Ana Grey, as long as I am here.

**To my readers: This is the Sawyer chapter that someone requested. It was rather hard to write because his perspective is so limited. However, his professional view was less emotional than other characters. This made it easier to work through the tougher aspects.**


	32. Blindsided

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: I know that some of you are concerned about my depiction of Carla. Please note that I am going out of my way to describe her recent reactions as out of character. That is an important element of the story.**

**No, this story will not resolve quickly. The only hint that I can give is that the epilogue (which I have already written) will be uplifting.**

**Chapter 26: Blindsided **

And so it starts again. This never-ending nightmare, from which I can never wake up starts all over again. Here I am in the same place that I was six weeks ago. Ana is still lying in the ER exhausted from the process of having her stomach pumped. Just watching it makes me swear that I will never go through that myself. In the end, they pulled up all thirty pills in various states of degradation. The doctor decides to be cautious and begins an IV to flush out her bloodstream. Detox he calls it.

He said that it was good that we got to her early. Apparently, acetaminophen poisoning can irreparably damage the liver. It can mean death. Did Ana knew that when she swallowed the pills? I don't think so. She kept murmuring about a headache. She kept repeating that she hates Tylenol. It doesn't work as well as Advil. So why didn't she just ask Shonda or Gail for a pain reliever?

Instead, she went rummaging through her travel bag to find the bottle from last summer, the last time we were in Aspen before Phoebe was born. The doctor has questions for her, but she doesn't answer coherently. She had a headache. She needed a pain reliever. We had taken all the pills away, but we didn't get these. He looks at me sharply and then walks away for a minute.

He returns with a tablet computer. He has pulled up her files. Damn Obamacare! Everything is there, easily accessible. Suddenly the electronic access of medical information no longer seems like such a good idea. There are the records of her C-section when Phoebe was born. And her records of the last time she was in here. I knew that I should have had Barney hack in and wipe them out. But Mother talked me out of it. She told me that it could be critical in her future care.

Trying to get anything out of Ana is a waste of time.

"I am so tired," she repeats, mumbling. "I just wanted to get rid of my headache. My head hurts. My throat hurts. What the hell have you done to me? Is that a needle in my arm? I've ruined everyone's lives. It's all my fault."

The doctor's ears prick up as she claims responsibility for something. The immediate assumption is that she is at fault for this debacle. Wrong buddy. It's my fault, and Taylor's and Sawyer's and Shonda's and Charlotte's. And while we are at it let's blame Mother and Ray too. We all failed. We didn't keep her safe. We _believed _her when she said that she would be all right seeing Ray.

At first she wanted to meet with him alone. That was a no go. Then, after hours of discussion, we agreed that I could be there, but not Charlotte or Shonda. He doesn't know either of them. It would make him uncomfortable. As always, it's about everyone's needs, except her own.

Well, he might not know Shonda, but he sure as hell knows Charlotte. Why didn't we tell her? Oh, right, she gets pissed off when we go behind her back. The last ditch effort was Mother. Ray knows Mother. He even likes her. She can talk Mariners with him. Ray has a very simple yardstick by which he measures character, sports and fishing.

But, no, not Mother either. She didn't want to put her out.

"Grace has done enough for me," she sad. "I can handle Ray if you're there."

My unspoken question was, but can you handle yourself? No doubt about it, the answer was no. So here we are, right back where we started.

The IV means that she has to spend the night. But the minute that prick doctor looks at her records, it's a 72-hour hold again. And he is not backing down. Who does he think that he is being all self-righteous about this? Well, says he, if you had kept her in the hospital for the full 72 hours the last time, this wouldn't have happened.

What the hell does he know? Even if they had kept her for the full 72 hours it wouldn't have helped. In fact it would have made it worse. He wasn't there in the room when we had to take Teddy and Phoebe away from. He didn't sit up with her all night like Charlotte did. Even though I was all for the hold and was scared as hell to bring her home, now I admit that it was the right thing to do.

So I argue, I have one of the best psychiatrists in the country and the best psych nurse at the hospital taking care of her at home. She was getting better. We could all see it. When she wakes up she is going to want to go home. She will want to see the kids. And after what happened the last time, I am not bringing them back here. Finally, I turn on my heel and leave him to take care of the arrangements. It's the same deal as last time, private room, private nurse.

I go outside where Taylor, Sawyer, Shonda, and Charlotte are waiting. They look up at me and I tell them what they already know. Ana has to stay not just for the night, but also for another 48 hours. Immediately, they all start to blame themselves. I can't help it; I do too. But Charlotte pulls us sharply in line. She is right. We can debrief later.

Without anything else to think of, I start to bark orders at people. Shonda and Sawyer go upstairs with Ana, while I discuss things with Taylor. I know that he already has Gail working at the house to do a more thorough search for anything that she could hurt herself with. Charlotte pulls out her phone about to call Flynn and Mother.

"I don't need Flynn," I growl.

"To quote my good friend, Shonda," she shoots back. "Like hell you don't!"

I am surprised by her vehemence. Taylor takes a step back and mutters that he will see us upstairs. I barely notice.

"Look," I say. "I am not in the mood to talk to Flynn. All I want to do is go up and be with my wife."

"I'm not saying that you can't do that," she says evenly. "In fact, right now you _should _be with her. However, you have just had a great shock. First you carried your wife I here after an overdose and then you sat with her as they pumped her stomach. I admire your fortitude. That is a most unpleasant procedure. But you need to process this."

"I need to be with Ana!"

"You need to process this," she says firmly. "Or you will be the one having nightmares. How do you think that Ana will feel if you wake up fearful of her safety, or worse yet, reliving this horror? Because, yes, that is what this is. For a short time you thought that you would lose. You need to be strong."

Once again, the good doctor defeats me. I wonder if Ana told her about my nightmares. I wonder if she told her about how I was haunted by the pain of my early years, of how helpless I felt when my birth mother was suffering. And now I feel almost as helpless. I look up and I can see that she knows everything.

"Ana has held nothing back from me about your early relationship," she says quietly. "It is not my place to judge. But when you are someone who suffered such terrible trauma in his early years, you need to be extra careful with subsequent traumas. That's why you need to talk this out and acknowledge it. If you don't do it now, then it will come back later."

"If I am supposed to sit with Ana to be there when she wakes up," I ask. "Who will sit with her while I am talking to Flynn."

"Grace," she says. "She views Grace as a guardian angel. I think that she trusts her even more than she trusts me."

"Okay, go ahead and call him," I sigh.

"Go upstairs and stay with your wife," she more gently. "There's no reason why you can't spend the night here if you want. But if you do, please send Taylor home so that he can spend some time with Sophie. School starts up for her again in the morning. You don't need both of them out there and at this point, I don't think that you could pry Sawyer away from her."

I walk over to the elevator and go to the third floor on automatic pilot. I know this walk too well. When I get to the room, I bark at Sawyer once again, even though I know that I owe him my life. But there's no one else to yell at except Shonda and I know that she will yell back.

I look at Ana over in the bed and see the IV in her arm and a catheter bag.

"You know she won't use that catheter," I comment to Shonda.

"That's what you think," Shonda answers. "All that fluid that's going I through the IV has got to come out some way. She'll still be asleep when it starts."

"The last time that she had one, she insisted on using the bathroom," I reply. "I carried her there myself. Nurse Nora didn't like me too much."

"Nurse Nora!" says Shonda. "That woman is one fine nurse. She trained me when I first came here. You know, she helped me get settled into the new job and all."

"Figures," I mutter. "You guys are like two peas in a pod."

"Listen here, boy," she replies. "Nora and me takes good care of our patients."

She glares at me and I back down.

"Of course you do," I say contritely. "And people like me don't make your job any easier."

"You try harder than most," she gives back grudgingly. "You do listen to the doctors . . . most of the time anyway. And you want what's best for poor Ana here. And you got it tough, because of those babies back home. But there are times when you gots to let go and let us just do our jobs. You know, don't second guess us."

Taking a deep breath, I sit down in the chair beside the bed. Shonda goes back outside to her room. We know that Ray said something, but we really don't know what. I can't even guess. I have a feeling that Charlotte has an idea, based on all of her conversations with him. If I had to make a stab in the dark, I would say that it has something to do with Carla. Of course, I am not even entirely sure of why she didn't want Ana to see her mother.

Mother had complained that Carla was being so difficult at the house that even Bob told her to cut it out. And it wasn't just that she tried to get information out of Teddy. When she first arrived she was only too happy to meet Charlotte. Then after the first interview, she became hostile. Something that they discussed hit a nerve, but it was hard to even say what.

I have always found Carla to be amusing, occasionally annoying, but mostly amusing. Most of the time, she was running off on some new scheme. In fact, she even tried to get me to invest in one of them. Ana told me not to even show the business plan to Ros because she might be laughing for a week. Carla was impractical, impulsive, charming, and good-natured. None of those attributes appeared last week. It was frightening.

I know that Charlotte talked to Bob to try to convince him to get her some help when they got home. She really thinks that there is some unfinished business going on there that she needs to resolve. And whatever it is, it has something to do with Ana. I suppose that we will have to tell her about Ana's admission to the hospital. It will have to be handled carefully however so that she doesn't turn on Ray.

I don't know how long that I am watching Ana sleep before Mother comes in. She reaches over my shoulder, putting her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek. I grab her wrists with my hands and hold on as she murmurs, "There. There." I feel the tears welling up and don't try to stop them. There is no need to. My Mom understands.

I think back to all those years when I wouldn't let her touch me. Now that I have my own children, I have a real sense of what that must have felt like for her. A parent's first instinct to comfort a crying child is to reach out and hold him. A parent feels a child's pain. I can only imagine how much pain she must have felt, when I rejected her comfort. I know how I would feel if Teddy rejected me that way.

"Son," she says softly. "John is waiting for you in the other room. Shonda and I will stay in here while you talk. If Ana begins to stir, we will get you immediately."

"Thank you," I reply, marveling at her ability to perfectly assess and manage the situation.

"There's one other thing," she says hesitantly.

"What?"

"Charlotte would like to join in the session," she says. "She wants to share some information with you and John. She thinks that his perspective will be useful in the treatment choices that she makes going forward."

"What do you think?" I ask wearily. "I trust your judgment more than mine at the moment."

"I think that it's a good idea."

"Okay then," I say. "I will go out and talk to the docs."

I pass Shonda on her way in, as I am on my way out. She gives me a sympathetic look. I realize that I have gotten beyond the point where I merely tolerate Shonda, to where I actually find her a very important member of my household. I enter the outside room where Flynn and Charlotte are waiting for me. I signal to them to wait a minute and go into the hallway.

"Taylor," I say. "Why don't you go home to supervise the sweep? Then you or Gail can help Sophie prepare for school tomorrow."

He looks surprised at hearing Sophie's name. I can't be sure whether it is because I have mentioned her or because he had forgotten that she starts school again tomorrow. The guilty look on his face indicates that it is probably the latter. Nevertheless he hesitates.

"Go on, I don't need both of you out here," I say, not adding that I don't need two of them standing around, when there is so much to do at home.

"Yes sir," he replies and turns toward the elevator.

With a nod to Sawyer, I return to the outer room where Charlotte and Flynn are waiting for me. I grab a seat and the three of us sit facing one another. The two doctors look serious and I feel myself inadvertently slumping. Whatever they have to say, I am probably not going to like it.

"Christian," says Flynn. "Charlotte and I have been talking and we have drawn some conclusions regarding Ana and her future treatment."

I am too sad and worn out to worry about the fact that they have been consulting. In fact, I have already decided not to fight whatever plan they have contrived. I hired these two talented doctors to take care of the health and well being of my family. After this most recent episode, I know that I have to trust in their judgment, no matter how much I may dislike it.

"Just give it to me straight," I answer.

The two shrinks look at each other. Had they been gearing up for an argument? Too bad, not today. Just say what you are to say and let me get back to my wife.

"Christian," says Charlotte. "We have decided that Ana should stay here for the whole 72-hour hold."

They both seem to be cringing as they wait for my response. They didn't have to bother.

"Alright," I reply. "Whatever you say. What's the rationale?"

Fear turns to surprise as they hear my response. Then Charlotte speaks.

"I'm glad that you are amenable," she says. "One reason is that it will give your staff a chance to really make sure that the house is safe, at least the parts where she goes. The other reason is that we want to focus here on what happens when she wakes up. It would be nice to know what Ray said to her when they were alone. He probably had no idea that whatever it was that he said would upset her."

"Can you think of anything that would have upset her this much?" asks Flynn.

"She's been talking a bit about her mother," I reply. "You, Charlotte, asked her if her mother had ever suffered from postpartum or any other kind of depression. She might have asked Ray about that."

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "If he told her what he told me, he would have said that it was hard to tell if she was suffering from postpartum depression or not because of the fact that she lost her husband the day after Ana was born. It is really impossible to separate what may have been grief from what may have been depression. Most likely it was a mixture of both."

"Any idea of what else he might have said?" asks Flynn. "The attending physician told me that she was muttering about ruining everyone's lives."

Charlotte looks off into the distance and then her eyes widen.

"We have to talk to Ray as soon as possible," she says. "One of the things that we uncovered was that Ray was taking care of Carla because she wasn't in much shape to take care of herself. Then Carla's parents were going to try to take Ana away by claiming that she wasn't equipped to he a single mother. That was why they got married."

"I can see how Ana, in her present frame of mind could easily misconstrue this as, she ruined both of their lives because if she hadn't been born, then they would never have gotten married," says Flynn slowly. "How much does she know about the break up?"

"She heard a lot more than they realized," answered Charlotte. "They argued at night after she was in bed, but she was awake. Carla said some pretty harsh things to Ray. Ana knows that Carla was having an affair and when Ray found out she was angry that he forgave her. She wanted a divorce so that she could marry husband number three."

"But she married him and that didn't work out at all," I say.

"Yes, and both Ana and Carla are very skittish about saying anything about that," replies Charlotte. "The only one forthcoming about it was Ray and even he is in the dark about what transpired in Texas."

"So am I, she has never given me any details," I comment.

"But whatever it was," she says. "It made Ana go back to Montesano and then Carla divorced him a couple of months later. The excuse that Ana gave for returning was that she missed her home. Carla said that she divorced him because they married too quickly. Now I am sure that both of those statements are true, but I also know that there is a whole lot more to it than that."

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

"Ana has been very open and forthcoming about everything in her life except for that period of time," she says. "But the very mention of husband number three shuts her down right away. Ray also told me that when Ana returned from Texas, she was even more shy and retiring than before.

"Until Kate and Jose, she had no close friends. And her social life when she returned to Montesano High School was non-existent. Before she left for Texas, she had a couple of girlfriends that she would hang out with occasionally. When she got back from Texas, there was no one."

"Didn't Ray notice the red flag?" asks Flynn.

Charlotte looks thoughtful.

"I think that he noticed, he just didn't know what to do about it," she replies. "He would ask her how she was doing and she would say fine. He knew that it would be useless to try and get her to talk to a counselor. She is very closed-mouth when she makes up her mind to conceal something. He thought that it would just get better."

"Well," says Flynn. "From what little I have seen of Ray, I can see how he would be 'at sea,' so to speak, with all of this. And we all know how stubborn Ana is. If she didn't want to see a counselor, then no one was going to force her."

"I had really planned on approaching this very subtly with her," explains Charlotte. "She is very practiced in evasive maneuvers, especially when it comes to her past. My thought had originally been that it had been something more closely related to Carla. Perhaps he had made Carla choose between the two of them.

"But I can now see that they were both scarred by this husband umber three character. There is probably an element of guilt over the fact that Carla suffered from almost becoming an unwed mother and then losing her husband so quickly."

"I wish I knew more," I say. "But some of these questions deal with things that Ana kept tightly locked up inside herself. It's ironic really, because she was very persistent when it came to learning every facet of my past. I was just not as persistent when it came to her. I just couldn't bear to see her pain whenever I pressed the point."

"When Ana wakes up," says Charlotte. "I will have a lot of questions for her. But also, we have all been assuming that Ana will be resistant to staying here for the full three days. She may not be."

"Possibly," I say doubtfully. "But she was terribly eager to get back to the kids the last time."

"Perhaps," she replies. "I am going to sit with Grace and Shonda and wait for her to wake up. You two need to talk."

"We do?" I ask, as she goes into Ana's room.

"We do," answers Flynn firmly. "I want to know how you are coping with all of this. When you walked in, you looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Then, you acquiesced very easily, almost too easily, to keeping Ana here for three days. You still look stunned by what's happened. We need to process this."

"How?" I ask.

"I would like for you to tell me the story in your own words," he says. "Not just what happened, but also your emotional response, it must have been dreadful."

"Dreadful doesn't even begin to cover it," I say. "When I returned to the house after walking Ray out to car, the alarm from our room was buzzing and I bolted upstairs with Taylor at my heels. Sawyer and Shonda had evaluated the situation and decided that we needed to he her to the ER right away. They were talking about Tylenol and overdosing and liver failure. I was damn scared.

"Since there was no way that Ana could walk, I carried her out to the car myself. I could see that she was breathing and she was kind of mumbling incoherently. It was different from the last time. I wasn't afraid that she was going to die. It didn't really get awful until we got to the ER."

"Why is that?"

"Well," I continue. "I put her on the stretcher and the doctor called for a stomach pumping set up. It was terrible."

I stop.

"It's better for you if you describe it," Flynn prompts me gently.

"They put a tube down her throat, all the way to her stomach," I say. "Then they began to bring everything up with water. They didn't bring up much. It was mostly the pills. But since some of them were dissolved, they didn't want to take any chances so they put in the IV to detox her blood. Then the fun started with the doctor."

"Fun?"

"He pulls out his tablet computer to pull up her records for the last year," I grimace. "Naturally, he pulled up the report from the last . . . episode. He scolded me for getting her out early from the three-day hold and then said that he was going to hold her for the full three days this time around. We tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding today with the pills, but he wasn't buying it. I was sorry that I didn't have Barney hack in and erase her records from the system."

"Why didn't you?"

"Mother told me that it was important for them to have the files for future reference," I say.

"You know, Christian," he says sternly. "Your mother is right. I know that Barney is one of the smartest tech guys in town and this would have been a cake walk for him, but please don't even think about messing with anyone's medical records again. Talk about illegal and dangerous! There is a reason why the electronic records were stipulated by the ACA. Medical history is critical to treatment."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I guess that you're right. It's a little different than wiping inflammatory emails off the server."

"Very," he says. "Now going forward, you are going to need to make some decisions about her care. My advice is to do whatever Charlotte asks you to do. She is already consulting with me, so you don't have to mess around with the whole second opinion thing. But there is one thing that she is going to suggest that I am going to tell you about before hand."

"What?"

"Charlotte thinks that it would be beneficial for Ana to participate in group therapy sessions with other women with postpartum depression," he says. "That way she will feel less isolated and can share her experiences with others who are going through the same thing. It will also help her to hear other women's stories. As I said, will make her feel less alone."

"Are you crazy?" I ask.

"No, I'm dead serious," he replies evenly. "And so is Charlotte."

"Well, I'm going to need all of those names so that I can run a thorough background on everyone in her group," I say.

"Are _you _crazy?" he asks. "There is no way that that is going to happen. These women are all in therapy together. These sessions have an implicit confidentiality to them. That means that you are not going to be running background checks on anyone. In fact, you won't even know their names."

"Then it's out of the question," I answer, the finality ringing in my voice.

"The bad news for you," he says. "Is that you don't have veto power. Charlotte is going to present the idea to Ana, without you present I might add, now that I know your feelings. It is her choice, not yours."

"What can she get from group therapy that she can't get from her one-on-one conversations with Charlotte," I reply. "You never suggested to me that I needed group therapy."

"Christian," he says patiently. "You were dealing with a very unique set of issues based on a particularly brutal childhood. You were also not the type to want to share your pain with anyone. Ana is a different person and her issues are very different."

"I know that," I snap.

"Good, then you know that her course of treatment will be different from yours," he says. "For someone like Ana who thinks so poorly of herself, discussing her issues with other women who are living through the same nightmare and getting their support, will help her move forward."

"We give her support."

"It's not the same thing," he says. "None of you have suffered from this specific illness. You can sympathize, but you can't empathize. You can't say, 'yeah, I know, I've been there.' That's what Ana needs to hear."

"But how can I be sure that one of these women won't go to the press and spill her guts?" I ask.

Flynn rolls his eyes.

"Now _that_ is crazy," he says. "How many of these women will care enough about who Ana is that they will even think about going to the press. Anyone in such a group is in such a world of hurt that the last thing she will be thinking of is running to the press with her story. Besides, do you really think that Ana has such great name recognition? If you want, she can introduce herself as Ana Steele."

"Oh," I say. "I guess that this will be one time when I won't object to her using her maiden name."

"If she agrees," he qualifies.

"If she agrees," I say, really hoping that she won't. "Am I free to go sit with my wife now?"

"Yes, you are," he replies. "I will be back to talk with you tomorrow or you can come to my office. But whatever happens after she wakes up, I think that we should meet again."

"Sure, sure," I reply, just wanting to get away from him.

When I go into the room, Mother, Charlotte, and Shonda all look up. Mother makes a move to get out of her chair, but I shake my head. I bring my own chair over and sit on Ana's other side.

"Has she said anything?" I ask quietly.

"No," says Mother shaking her head. "She moans sometimes because her throat is aching and she tosses and turns. She occasionally mumbles, but nothing coherent. She may be out for a while."

Charlotte walks over to join us.

"Shonda and I are going to eat," she says. "Then we will spell you so that you can eat. Don't argue Christian. You need to keep your blood sugar up. When you don't, you get very cranky."

"You noticed?" asks Mother.

"You can't miss it," she replies. "And anyway Ana told me."

After they leave the room, I look at my mother and notice hat she is watching me.

"I'm very proud of you, Christian," she says quietly.

"Why?"

"You are showing a great deal of inner strength and self control in challenging circumstances," she answers. "You are getting much better about not trying to control and micromanage her treatment. Charlotte and John were both afraid that you were going to be a lot more resistant with their plans."

"What's the point?" I ask. "I am paying both of them a king's ransom to help Ana. If part of getting my money's worth means taking their advice, then I'll do it."

"This is more than getting your money's worth," she disagrees. "You are finally starting to trust them with your wife's care to the same degree that you trust Ros to run your business. I know that Ana is far more precious to you than any business deal, so this is a very big step for you."

I look at Ana and see that although she seems to be sleeping or resting, she is not at peace. Her face looks anxious and she keeps shifting around as if she can't get comfortable. I pick up her hand and rest it against my cheek.

"I'm here for you, baby," I say softly. "Everything is going to be all right."

She sighs a little bit and then stills. I put her hand back down, but then put one hand over her two on the blanket. I don't want to lose the physical contact with her. I think that she must know that it is I. And I don't want her to think that I will ever let go, because I won't. And we will get through this . . . together.


	33. Sophie's Christmas

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 27: Sophie's Christmas**

This has been the oddest Christmas vacation of my life. We didn't have a Christmas tree in our apartment because I didn't want one. And we went over ti the big house for Christmas Day. Gail and Dr. Grace cooked dinner for us. But we didn't do anything special. I wasn't in the mood for it.

It is only the second time that I have been able to spend Christmas with my Daddy. Two years ago, I was so excited because it was our first Christmas together. The judge had said that I was to have alternating holidays with my Daddy. My Mommy was very unhappy. I couldn't tell if it was because she would miss me or she just didn't like me spending time with him.

She was more angry than sad however when I got on Mr. Grey's plane to fly back home to Seattle. She was mad when I slipped and called it home. How many times had she told me that Colorado was now my home? Too many, I suppose. But Colorado was so cold compared to Seattle. It isn't like Seattle is _warm _or anything. It's just not as cold. Seattle was all I could remember. So to me, it felt like home.

And when I got to the airport in Denver, Daddy and Gail were waiting for me. I was a little mad at Mommy because she pretended that Gail wasn't there. It almost made me forget that I would miss her. I did love my Mommy and I still do. I didn't always like the things that she did, like when she tried to take me away from my Daddy forever. She told me that now that he had married Gail, he didn't want me anymore. But I knew that wasn't true.

When Mr. Grey and Ana moved to their new house, they built Daddy and Gail an apartment over the garage. It's a big beautiful apartment. And it has a room just for me. When Ana was designing the house and decorating the rooms, she called me in one day to talk to me. She asked me what my favorite colors were and what I liked to play with. She told me that I was going to have my own special bedroom and she would help me design it.

I told her that I liked blue and I liked dolls. So she made my walls and carpet blue. Then she got matching curtains and bed set. I have a big closet, even though I didn't have lots of clothes to put in it. As a treat, she got me a big dollhouse from FAO Schwartz and had someone from Mr. Grey's company build. Then she filled it with furniture and it me a family of dolls to live there.

There are a Mommy doll, a Daddy doll, and a little girl doll. I didn't want to be greedy, but I asked for a little boy doll too because I always wanted a little brother. She said that it was sweet and that she always wanted a brother too. Then she got a little sad, but only for a minute. That was my Christmas present that year. Daddy wasn't happy that she spent so much money, but Gail calmed him down. She said that I needed toys to play with when I visited. And I love my dollhouse.

I have always liked Ana. For my eighth birthday, she got me the American Girl doll, Elizabeth, because she thought that I looked like Elizabeth. And then, because she said that she always wanted to have a doll like that, she bought me all her clothes, a bed, a horse, and even a stable for the horse. Daddy was very mad at her for giving me so much, but she laughed and said that nobody had ever spoiled her like that, so she wanted it spoil me.

I still have Elizabeth, and her friend Felicity. Ana got me her for my ninth birthday. They both come from the Colonial Times. They each even have books about them. Gail was never mad at Ana for buying me toys. She understood that Mommy wouldn't let me bring any of my toys with me when I came to visit Daddy, or even my books. So I have a bookshelf filled with the books that she bought me.

I thought that it was hard when I was a kid with divorced parents, especially, when my Mommy wouldn't let me see my Daddy. Then, when we moved to Colorado, she tried to make me stay away from him. But I talked to the judge and _he _understood. He told Mommy that she had to send me to Daddy just like the other judge said.

It was nice getting to stay with Daddy for the whole summer. Mommy couldn't call up and say things like, "You have to bring her back early," or "She's got plans and can't come." I knew that she was lying because most of the time there were no plans. But she told me that if I ever told him that, then she would never let me see him. I was only a little kid, so I believed her.

But I also liked coming every summer, because Teddy was there. First he was a little baby. Mr. Grey said that all he did was eat and poop. Then the next year he was walking all over. Then this summer he started to talk. He calls me "Soo-ee," which is pretty cute. We played together a lot in the meadow, especially when Ana got too big to chase after him.

Then everything just got very sad. Right before I was supposed to go back for school, we got the most terrible phone call of my life. My Mommy had died in a car accident. Daddy and Gail took me back to Colorado for the funeral and to pack me up to move back to Seattle. It was really sad because there weren't that many people there. Nobody really knew us because we had not lived there for very long. But then we had to go through the house. That was the hardest thing of all.

Daddy and Gail asked me what I wanted, but I really didn't want anything but my clothes and books. I know that Gail secretly packed some of my other things. I heard her telling Daddy that someday I would want them. Maybe I will. I guess I'm glad that she saved just in case.

I really like Gail. And it's a good thing because I spend more time with her than Daddy. I have a friend at school named Madison. I was happy that Mr. Grey pulled some strings so that I could go back to my old school. I have been friends with Madison since I was in kindergarten. She even remembered me. So did the other kids because our class is so small.

Her parents aren't divorced, but her Daddy is an important doctor at the same hospital where Dr. Grace works. He is the head of surgery. So she spends a lot more time with her Mommy than her Daddy. He works lots of really long hours, just like my Daddy. She said that I am lucky to have Gail. She thinks that Gail is more fun than her Mommy. Her Mommy is an artist for an advertising company and she works from home. Madison says that that sounds better than it is. She says that her Mommy works _all _time and when she is in her office she cannot bother her.

Since Ana got sick, Gail has been spending a lot more time over in the big house. She isn't the housekeeper anymore. She looks after Teddy and Phoebe. Sometimes I get to help her. I pretend that Teddy and Phoebe are my little brother and sister. It is fun, but Teddy is _obsessed _with trains.

Dr. Grace's husband even got him a train bed for Christmas. I can't wait until Phoebe is old enough to play with me, I am going to teach her to like dolls. Ana even got her a dolly for Christmas, even though she's really to little. But she likes to hug it and sometimes it sounds like she is talking to it. But she does not have any words yet.

Since Ana got sick, there are two new ladies helping her. Miss Shonda is a nurse. She is very funny. She talks funny too. She talks "ghetto," but she sounds a lot better at it then when my friends at school try to do it. It's probably because she _is _black. She's not just _trying _to be black. The other lady is Dr. Charlotte. I like her because she reminds me of my favorite teacher in school.

They take very good care of Ana. Sometimes she gets upset and they make her feel better. I wish that Ana would feel better. I miss the happy Ana. Sometimes Teddy does too, but most of the time he is thinking about his trains. He likes Miss Shonda too because she makes him laugh. She calls him her "little man." Sometimes he makes me call him that too.

Today Ana went back to the hospital with Miss Shonda. Teddy misses them both, but Gail and I are there for him. I don't think that Phoebe even realizes that she's gone. Gail said that she will be back soon and I shouldn't worry about it. Tomorrow I go back to school.

I'm glad to go back to school. I know that all the other kids will be talking about the things that they got, like iPads and iPhones. The kids at my school get lots of expensive stuff. I didn't want any presents because I miss my Mommy so much. The other day, Gail made me go to Madison's house because she said that I was moping. Madison was happy, because she was bored all alone by herself. She was mad because her mother was always working. She wasn't talking to her.

When I got home I cried because it wasn't fair. Madison had a Mommy and she complained about her and wouldn't talk to her. My Mommy is gone forever. I used to complain about her, but I would never _not_ talk to her. Madison doesn't know how good she has it. Her Mommy isn't perfect, but she's still there. My Mommy wasn't perfect either, but I would take her back any day.

Gail talked to Daddy and she said that I should talk to someone about how much I missed my Mommy. But I told her that I didn't want to talk to a stranger because I could talk to her whenever I wanted. Then she reminded me that I never talk about my Mommy. I promised to talk about Mommy to _her _as long as I didn't _have_ to talk to a stranger. I don't like strangers.

She said okay and gave me a really big hug. She's so nice to me that sometimes I feel bad because I wish that I could call her Mom (not Mommy because I could _never _have another Mommy). But then I feel really bad because its like I'm forgetting my real Mommy. It is very confusing. When I go back to school, I want to talk to my favorite teacher, Mrs. Sharp, about it.

Mrs. Sharp is the most awesome teacher in the school. That's why everyone likes fifth grade the best. She lets us earn plastic coins for doing special things. Then we can buy candy with the coins. She calls it "coins for candy." I call it cool, because I'm not allowed to eat candy at home. But Gail is pretty cool too. I told her about coins for candy because I didn't want her to think that I was sneaking around behind her back eating candy.

But she said that a little candy never hurt anyone. So it's our secret from Daddy. If Daddy finds out, she'll tell him to lighten up. I was surprised because Daddy came home early from the hospital. He is spending some time with me, sort of. He is working in his office, just like Madison's mother does. But I will never complain. I may not have my Mommy anymore, but I still have my Daddy. There is nothing to complain about that.

**To my readers: I thought that you would enjoy a chapter from Sophie's POV. I was trying to demonstrate what a good job the adults are doing keeping the house as normal as they can for the kids. I also know that some of you have become "attached" to Sophie. I have to admit. I have too.**


	34. Wake Up Call

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Note to Readers: Sorry for the delay, but this is grades and comments weekend, a very busy time for a teacher. I am sorry that some readers feel so vehemently about the trajectory of the story. However, to address the assumptions of one reviewer I will say this. **

**First of all, no psychiatrist, however expert, can ever root out the deeply felt pain of a patient in three sessions. Secondly, I am not an expert in psychiatry and have never claimed to be. Finally, I am **_**not **_**leading up to a revelation of molestation by husband number three (and I never intended to). It is too easy and obvious a solution to Ana's issues. **

**But more importantly, if Ana had been sexually molested I doubt very much that she would have embraced her sexual relationship with Christian so enthusiastically or even attempted to try to live up to his BDSM expectations. There is no allusion anywhere in the books that she was abused in this manner. It sounded more like it was Carla who was abused. So stay tuned for my take on it.**

**Chapter 28: Wake Up Call**

I should have known better. I thought that this was all too easy. And I should know, having doctored the children of several women with postpartum depression. But I wanted so badly to believe that things were progressing forward, that there would be no relapses. But of course there would be. Ana had been quiet and anxious. Her psyche was still fragile and something that Ray must have said something that set her off.

She looks dreadful lying there, mostly because of the ordeal of the stomach pumping. When I realized that she was wearing a hospital gown, I called the house and asked Gail to pack her a few things, comfortable pajamas, some sweats. I told her about the three-day hold. I asked her to tell the children that she had to go away for a little while but that she would be home soon.

Unbelievably, all the children, including Sophie who is very sharp and perceptive, were completely unaware of the drama that took place. Apparently, it all played out so quickly, and the transition from bedroom to car went so smoothly, that they never knew it happened. I have a new respect for Taylor and his detailed planning. I will never complain about his obsessive tendencies with regard to security again.

It is difficult to tell if Ana is sleeping or semi-conscious. She is moaning and I suspect that she is still not exactly sure what happened. Christian is out talking with Charlotte and John. Shonda is sitting by the desk watching her like a hawk. After this latest episode, I am not sure if we will ever convince her to take another day, let alone week, off again. First one to return is Charlotte, who comes in and sits by Shonda. Then, several minutes later, Christian comes in and sits across from me.

I can see that no one is going to convince _him _to leave her side. But Charlotte and Shonda leave us alone to go eat. For a few minutes, we sit in silence together, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The expression of Christian's face is quite different from what it was the last time that we were here. At that time he looked awful, mostly hopeless. Now he simply looks resigned. He is holding Ana's hand and she has quieted a bit. I suspect that she is aware that he is here again.

When Christian looks up at me, it is clear that there is pain underlying the resignation. His eyes show that although he is not hopeless, he is in agony. I know what he witnessed as he held her hand down in the ER. Perhaps the only thing worse than getting your own stomach pumped is seeing someone you love go through that torture. But there was no choice. And Ana is very lucky. Between that and the detox, she will suffer no liver damage.

I am very proud of him. It has taken him a long time to get to this place where he is able to stay calm and it control. But he brushes me off when I tell him, by saying that he just wants to get his money's worth from his experts. But I know that it is more than that, he is obviously beginning to trust them with Ana's care. He isn't staying beside Ana because he wants to control the situation. He is here to show his love and support for her. After a moment of silence, he speaks.

"Mother," he says quietly. "We are doing everything that we can for her. Why isn't she improving?"

"She _is _improving," I reply. "This is a set back, but I refuse to believe that it has erased all of the strides that she has made so far."

"I have a good mind to call Ray and ask him what he told her," he grumbles.

"Please don't," I ask him. "Whatever he said, it probably sounded innocuous to him. If you call him up and tell him that she is back in the hospital and what she did after he left, you will make him feel dreadful, and for what? I believe that when she can, Ana will tell us what he said. She has already given us a hint, hasn't she?"

"Well, among other things," he says. "She did talk about ruining everyone's lives. Most of what she said was about a headache and the ineffectiveness of Tylenol."

"Well, wait for her to wake up at any rate," I advise. "As long as she's here, nothing will happen to her. Once we sort this out, we can start to move forward again. And I think that it is futile to speculate. You will only make yourself crazy if you try to figure it out without having any facts."

"Yes, Mother," he says with a sigh. "As usual, you make complete sense. What would I do without you?"

"Oh," I answer. "You would muddle through."

"Probably," he admits. "But just think of all the bad decisions that I would make, and arguments that I would get into without you to guide me."

"That is true," I comment. "But you are improving there too. It is taking a lot less effort to rein in your stubborn tendencies than it was even a month ago. This whole experience is testing and challenging you, yet you respond by rising to the challenge and improving your own attitudes and actions."

"It's a high price to pay for my own self-improvement," he says bitterly.

He looks more discontented as he gazes at Ana.

"She is paying a _very_ high price for it."

"Christian," I say gently. "You are missing the point. I am not talking about Ana paying the price for your self-improvement. This is one of the worst challenges that a married couple can face in their lives. Any serious illness, physical or mental, puts a tremendous strain on a marriage. It is one of those things that can either make or break it.

"Ana will get through this and so will you both as a married couple. In the long run, you will both be stronger for it. Just as she helped you conquer your inner demons, you are helping her. Clearly there are issues from her younger life that are emerging for her. She is trying to push them back, but they will just continue to return if she does.

"If you are becoming stronger, it is because she needs your greater strength. So you see, Christian, your self-improvement, so to speak, is very important to her recovery. You are responding to _her _needs and that is what loving spouses do. When this dark chapter in your lives is over, you and your marriage will be better for it."

"Mother," he asks. "How did you become so wise?"

"Years of experience," I reply simply. "The challenges of my own life have helped to give me the wisdom to help you now. One day, you may be called upon to act similarly for your own children."

"I hope not!"

"And I can tell you in no uncertain terms, that I never wanted any of you to suffer like this," I say. "But these are not things that we can control for our children. One of the lessons that I hope that you take away from this is that your children are never too old to need you. And I hope that you will always be there for them."

"Like you and Dad are," he adds.

"Exactly," I agree. "You may not be able to protect your children from the storms of life. However, you can give them all the help that you can to pass through them."

"Were your parents there for you?" he asks.

"Yes, and they still are," I reply. "Even though they moved to southern Arizona for the warmer, drier climate. Where do you think that I learned some of this? It is a gift that is passed down through the generations."

"A better inheritance than money," he muses.

"Much," I reply. "There are a lot of things that money can buy, but . . . "

"Not this," he says. "I sure have found that out the hard way."

"I'm glad that you realize it," I say. "Sometimes I have worried that you have become too materialistic to appreciate the intangibles in life, such as love, commitment, kindness, devotion . . . The list is endless."

Our conversation is interrupted as Ana begins to stir. She moves restlessly and slowly opens her eyes and gazes at us. She doesn't speak, as she seems to take in her surroundings.

"Grace, Christian," she finally croaks. "My throat is killing me. It feels like I swallowed a cup of sand or something. What happened?"

"What do you remember happened?" I ask carefully.

She takes a minute to ponder.

"Ray left and I had a terrible headache," she says slowly, her voice very soft. "I went upstairs but I couldn't find any Advil, you took it all away. Then I remembered the Tylenol in my travel bag. I thought that since it didn't work very well that I would take a couple of extras. But when I opened the bottle, it all came out into my hand. I wasn't paying attention when I swallowed the pills. I didn't count them. How many did I take?"

Christian and I look at each other. He shrugs and so I answer.

"You took all thirty, dear," I say.

"Is that why my throat hurts so much?"

"Yes, but you probably are not aware of the real reason," I explain. "The pills themselves didn't hurt your throat. However the number of pills that you took was toxic. Acetaminophen can severely damage liver and in extreme cases can cause death. The pain that you are feeling is from the tube that they had to put down your throat to pump your stomach."

"Oh," she says. "What is the IV for?"

"The doctor decided to take the precaution of detoxing your system," I reply. "After all the drugs are out of your system, we will start the Wellbutrin again."

"Oh," she says again. "Then can I go home?"

"The doctor has decided to hold you for three days," answers Christian, finally finding his voice. "We, Charlotte, Flynn, and I, have decided not to fight it. We want to make sure that your condition is fully stabilized before you go home."

"But it was a mistake," she objects. "I didn't mean to take all those pills."

"We know that," he replies. "But it was still a very dangerous thing that you did, intentional or not. We want to be sure that you don't do it again."

"Oh," she says. "But what about Teddy and Phoebe?"

"They are fine," I answer quickly. "In fact, they weren't really aware of what happened when it happened. Gail is with them now and is going to tell them that you will be home soon."

"Oh," she says. "Will you bring them to visit me?"

"We will see about that," I reply. "We don't want a repeat of the last visit, which was very traumatic for all of you. It may be better to just leave them at home for now."

"Oh," she says quietly and closes her eyes for a minute.

Then we hear Shonda and Charlotte come back in and she opens her eyes again.

"Ana," says Charlotte. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

"My throat hurts," she says.

"Well, then I'll just have to get you something for that," says Shonda immediately. "Would you like some of your tea with honey and lemon?"

"You have that here?" she asks.

"We stopped at a market on the way back from dinner," she explains. "And picked up some supplies, some things that we thought that you might like. Now I knew that your throat would be hurting you bad, so I got you your tea and some ice cream. There are also yogurt and blueberries and some apple juice."

"That was very kind of you," says Ana. "Thank you. I would like some tea, please."

When Shonda hustles off to get it, Charlotte turns to her again.

"Ana, can you tell us what happened?"

"I just told Grace and Christian," she says wearily. "I made a mistake. I didn't mean to take all those pills."

"We know that you didn't," she says soothingly. "When did you get the headache? Why didn't you just ask for the painkillers? Shonda would have given you a couple of Advil."

"I didn't want to be a bother," she answers. "I've messed up so many lives already."

"It wouldn't have been no bother, Ana honey," Shonda says, as she comes back in. "It's my job to take care of you. Now just sip this tea to begin with. It is still hot."

Ana takes the cup and gingerly lifts it to her lips. It's still steaming, but she blows on it and takes a small sip. She swallows and winces a little.

"My throat feels raw, but the warmth feels good," she says.

"That's good," says Charlotte. "Now why do you think that you have messed up other people's lives? We've talked about that before, and I thought you were finally realizing that you hadn't. Did Ray say something?"

"No," she says and then amends her statement. "Well, yes, but he didn't mean to. He was just answering a question."

"What was the question?" she asks encouragingly.

"I asked him if she had ever been depressed, you know, like I am," she replies. "With postpartum. But he just said that she was real sad when Frank, my father, died. He didn't want to say anything else, but I kind of pried."

"What did he tell you?" she asks.

"He said that it was pretty tough for her for a while," she replies. "He was taking care of her because there was no one else. My grandparents wanted to take me away from her because they didn't think that she could raise me alone. That was why they got married. Then he said that it worked . . . mostly."

"Did you know about your grandparents?" she asks.

"No," she replies. "I mean, I knew that we never had any contact with them, but Carla wouldn't really explain why. But I did know that she married Ray because of me. I just never knew what pushed her into the decision."

"How did you know that she married Ray for your sake?" she asks.

"Well," she answers. "When they were fighting, her and Ray, before the divorce, she told him that she had only married him for my sake. She said that Steve, husband number three, was her chance for happiness. She said that Steve wanted to raise me now."

"Did she tell you this?" asks Charlotte curiously.

"No," she admits. "They used to fight when they thought that I had gone to bed and was asleep. But I heard everything."

"Did you ever tell them?"

"No," she says. "But there really wasn't anything to tell them. I didn't want to admit that I was eavesdropping. And I was afraid that if I told them that I could hear them then they would argue when they _knew _that I couldn't hear them. I wanted to know."

"What did you find out?"

"That Mom really hated Ray," she says. "It wasn't easy to hear, because I loved Ray. He was the only father that I ever knew. But I began to feel guilty. I never knew how miserable that she had been when they were married. And now she was mad at him because he forgave her for cheating. She wanted a divorce and he wanted to fix things. But she said that the only thing that needed to be fixed could only be fixed by a divorce. But they had been married for sixteen years."

"So then her gave in?" Charlotte asks.

"He didn't have a choice," says Ana. "My Mom may be flighty and scattered-brained, but when she makes up her mind about something, there's no stopping her. She married _him _almost as soon as the divorce was final. Then they decided to move to Texas."

"Why did they go there?"

"Steve got a job offer and Mom told him to take it," she says. "I think that she wanted to get away from Ray. And she wanted to get me away from Ray."

"Why was that? Do you know?"

"Not really," she says. "I _think _that she wanted to pretend that they had never been married or something. If I was still visiting him, then she couldn't do that. And if we were living in the same town, she couldn't stop me from going over. I was too old."

Ana stops take a few sips of tea. I am sure that it is cool enough by now. At least she doesn't wince.

"So you went with them to Texas," encourages Charlotte. "Did your mother force you to go?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that," answers Ana. "I would say that she made me feel so guilty that I didn't have much of a choice."

"How did she make you feel guilty?" asks Charlotte. "Was it because of Ray?"

"No," replies Ana slowly. "She played her biggest guilt card, so to speak. She told me that I was all that she had left of my father Frank. She that said he had been the love of her life and that he had loved me so much. She knew that he would want her to be happy. She said that she just knew that Steve would make both of us happy again."

"Did you feel unhappy?"

"No," she says. "I guess that I was pretty happy. I thought that she was happy too, well basically happy anyway. She always seemed restless and a little discontented. You know, she didn't like living in such a small town. I didn't think about how that was my fault until I realized that we lived in Montesano because that was Ray's home. And if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have married Ray. I wanted her to be happy, so I went with them."

She stops and stares into her now empty teacup.

"Would you like some more tea?" asks Shonda.

"Sure," she says absentmindedly. "That would be nice."

She looks thoughtfully after Shonda as she leaves. Then she looks at Christian.

"You're doing real great, Ana," he says gently. "I know how hard it is. Remember how hard it was for me to tell you everything about my early life? I got through it because you loved me so much. And after I did, I felt better. Now I know that you don't want to talk about those months in Texas, but I think that you need to."

"Yes, you do," adds Charlotte. "Ray said that you were a different person when you returned. The reason that you returned had to be more than just the fact that you missed the only home that you ever knew."

"Yes," she whispers. "It was much more. But that's not for me to say. It's not so much about me."

"Did Steve ever hurt you?" asks Charlotte softly.

"No," she says. "He never hurt me. It was Mom . . . I couldn't stand it anymore. It was bad. When I begged her to let me go back to Ray, to finish my high school at Montesano high, she let me. I had already applied to UWV, so she knew that I would be going back to Washington anyway."

"But she divorced Steve shortly after you left anyway," she says. "So it couldn't have been your fault that the marriage didn't work. So you couldn't have messed up her life like that."

"That's not how I messed up her life," she says. "I didn't break up her marriage to Steve. I messed up her life because first she married Frank because she was pregnant. Then she married Ray because she thought that she would lose me. Then she married Steve because she wanted to get away from Ray. She didn't get married to someone that she really loved and was really good for her until she married Bob. But she didn't meet him until I was out of the picture."

I can now see how her line of logic drew all of her mother's mistakes back to herself. And then the one marriage that lasted happened after she was away from her and on her own. All of that was a heavy burden for a young girl, and then a young woman, to carry around with her. But the absent piece of the puzzle was husband number three and what he did to Carla.

Looking at Ana now, I can see that she is exhausted. I look over to Charlotte and can see that she is thinking the same thing.

"I think that we have talked enough for one day," she says. "We will keep you in the hospital until we have a new treatment plan to follow. Christian and Grace, I think that you should go to dinner. You must be starving."

"Please don't leave, Christian," begs Ana. "Can't Sawyer or Taylor bring you something?"

"That's not a problem," he soothes her. "I am here for as long as you need me. I am sure that I can get dinner sent in. You might want something soft to eat also."

"Something light," agrees Charlotte. "And you can have Christian with you for as long as you want."

"Thank you, Charlotte," she says.

She leans back and gazes into Christian's eyes. He leans over and kisses her forehead. Then he picks up her hand to hold again.

"It's okay, baby," he says quietly. "And don't you dare even think that you have messed up my life. You are the best thing that has happened to me since Grace and Carrick adopted me. You are my life and we are going to get through this. You are the love of _my _life. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if I have to."

"I don't deserve you," she says sadly.

_"Don't _ever say that!" he says fiercely. "I am the one who doesn't deserve you."

Charlotte and I turn and walk out the door. As we leave, Charlotte nods to Shonda, who sits like a sentinel in her corner. She is aware of everything that passes between Christian and Ana. But luckily they are so used to having her around, that it doesn't censor what they say to one another. When we get outside the room, she breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was tough," she admits. "But it was also progress. We need to convince her that she can trust us enough to tell us what happened between Carla and husband number three. Presently, that is the best impediment to her moving forward. She needs to admit to it so that we can help her get past her guilt."

"What about Carla?" I ask.

"I think that Carla needs to deal with her own issues," she replies. "But she needs to leave Ana out if it. Once she comes to terms with whatever it is that _she _needs to come to terms with. _Then_ she can see Ana again. They still have unfinished business to take care of, but they can't do it until they both pull themselves together."

"Do you think that Ana can move forward without Carla?" I ask.

"She will probably have to," she replies. "Once she gets over her own guilt, I will try to convince her that she is not responsible for her mother's choices. She needs to see her mother as the adult that she was, not as someone that she was responsible or taking care of."

"That makes sense," I reply. "Can you tell me? What treatment modifications are you looking into?"

"I want her to start group therapy," she answers. "There is a group here at the hospital that would be well-suited to her needs."

"Dr. Riley's postpartum group?" I ask. "Will Christian allow it? I mean, won't he insist on background checks for all involved?"

"John spoke him earlier," she answers. "Naturally that was what he wanted to do, but John talked him out of it. Ana needs to be among women who share her problems so that she won't feel so isolated. And sometimes that makes it easier to talk about your issues. When you hear others telling their life stories, it gives you the courage to speak of your own."

"I'm surprised that Christian agreed," I admit.

"Well," she says. "We need to make a change. The Wellbutrin was working well, but the one-on-one therapy was only going to take her so far. She even admitted to me that she has always preferred groups to individuals. She does not like being the center of attention."

"That is true," I agree. "And as part of a group, she wouldn't have the whole burden placed on her for talking."

"And she will see all the various stages of recovery," she adds. "There will be women there who are almost at the end of their treatment as well as those like her who are on,y beginning. and of course there will be all those at varying intermediate stages. She will be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Right now, I think that she is only getting flickers."

"Will she continue to work with you?"

"Oh yes," she replies. "We have built up a great degree of trust. But group therapy will add a dimension to her treatment that may help her move forward more quickly."

"I have a question," I say. "I have been thinking about this a lot lately. Wellbutrin is listed as safe for nursing mothers. Why did you make her stop?"

"There are a number of anti-depressants that are considered to be safe for nursing mothers," she answers. "However, there really need to be longer term studies before I will be convinced. As a pediatrician, you know that the developing infant's brain is highly sensitive to drugs of any kind. I preferred not to take the risk."

"I appreciate your caution," I reply. "And yes, we are learning more and more about brain development every day. It's only been in the last few years that we have been doing the kind of imaging studies that show what parts of the brain respond to different stimuli. In fact, some of those principals have already been applied to teaching pedagogy and strategies for helping children learn."

"Yes, they have," she agrees. "Now why don't you go out to dinner? I'm sure that you can get something for Christian wherever you go, and probably Ana as well. We can talk more about this later, but you and your son both need to keep up your strength."

"Do you think that he should spend the night here?" I ask.

"Yes, if that's what Ana wants," she says. "Ana needs some control right now. Even though I can see all the benefits of group therapy, I am still going to present it to her as a choice, not a command."

As I leave the suite, I see Sawyer sitting out in the hall watching carefully. I feel bad for him. He's a good man and I know that he takes his duty to Ana's safety very seriously. I give him a smile, but he barely acknowledges me. Taking a deep breath, I get into the elevator and pull out my cell phone so that I can give Carrick the latest update. He has been my strength throughout this whole ordeal, and I am lucky to have him.

**Note: As an educator, I have been working with study skills and various learning strategies for the last fifteen years. For the last five years, this has included researching the latest brain theory and applying it to meta-cognitive strategies for my students.**


	35. Baby Steps

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 29: Baby Steps **

It was a relief to wake up this morning and still find Christian by my side. But he did promise not to leave me, and he has never broken his promise before. I notice that the IV is no longer in my arm. My throat feels less sore and I am more alert. But I can still feel the dark clouds of melancholy skirting around the edges of my consciousness, as if they are waiting to overwhelm me. Then I feel like I have to pee.

Christian is sleeping with his arms resting on the bed. It reminds me if the morning that I woke up after Jack Hyde had given me a concussion. I hate to wake him, but I really do need to get up. I give him a little shake and he starts.

"Ana, Ana baby," he says, sleepily. "Are you really awake?"

Within seconds, Shonda is by my side.

"Ana, honey," she says quickly. "How you feeling today?"

"Like I have to pee," I say urgently.

"You have a catheter," she answers.

"Yuck, I hate those things," I reply. "There's no way I'm using it."

Christian looks up at me half-asleep and smiles. Shonda rolls her eyes.

"You've been using one all night," she notes, a she points to the full bag. "All that liquid going through the IV got to somewhere. But if you insist, I'll take it out and help you up."

"You can take it out," answers Christian. "But I'll help her up."

"Whatever you say, sir," she shrugs.

Within minutes, she has done her part, Christian his part, and I feel a lot more comfortable.

"Well, now that you've done your business," says Shonda. "Tell me how you are feeling."

"I'm not too sure," I reply. "I mean, I feel better than last night. My throat isn't as sore and my head feels more lucid. But I still feel pretty sad and confused."

"Do you remember what happened?" she asks. "Why you are here?"

"Yes, I do," I say. "I took too many pills. They pumped my stomach. Charlotte talked to me last night. I talked about, well, my mother's marriages."

"That's pretty good," she says. "Do you remember eating a little dinner?"

"It was more like breakfast," I remember. "Soft-boiled eggs, Greek yogurt and blueberries, and tea."

"Very good, Ana," she says in approval. "Now that you are awake, I'm going to get you your breakfast and then we'll start you on the Wellbutrin again."

"Do you have to?" I ask. "Start the pills again. I feel so calm."

"Well that may be a combination of the detox and the fact that you are still waking up," she answers. "If you don't take it, those feelings of sadness will probably get stronger. We want to avoid that."

"Okay," I say with a sigh. "Christian, how are the children?"

He looks as me sheepishly and then I remember that he has been by my side all night.

"Don't worry about Teddy and Phoebe," Shonda soothes me. "I spoke to Mrs. Gail about an hour ago. They are both doing real well. She told them that you feeling a little sick again, but you would be home soon. No offense, but Teddy is more upset because Sophie went back to school this morning."

"Oh, good," I say. "How soon can we leave after breakfast?"

Christian and Shonda look at each other seriously. She loses some of her cheerfulness and he looks away.

"I'm not going home after breakfast," I say slowly. "Do they need to do more tests?"

"No, Ana," answers Christian. "The admitting physician wanted to keep you for a seventy-two hour hold, remember? We decided not to fight it this time."

"I guess that I don't quite recall everything from last night as well as I thought that I did," I say. "I probably didn't want to remember that."

"Don't worry about it," says Shonda quickly. "If I was you, I would want to forget that too. But Dr. Charlotte wants to change a few a things in your treatment and she thinks her it would be best to do it here. She will explain it when she comes by later."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's about nine," she says. "I'll call her up and she'll be here in about a half hour. Now what can I get for you?"

I swallow to test my throat. I would really like some granola, but I'm not sure if my throat is up to it. It is still sore, but not quite so raw.

"Yogurt, blueberries, granola, and tea, please" I reply.

"Coming right up," she says as she leaves.

"Are you going to work today?" I ask Christian.

"I don't have anything pressing on my calendar," he answers. "If you want me to stay with you, I'll be here."

"Are you sure?" I ask. "I mean, I really would like you here."

"Then you're stuck with me," he says. "When Shonda comes back, I'll call Ros and Andrea. And I'll call Taylor and have him bring over a laptop for me. Mother called and had Gail send over some clothes for both of us. She thought that you would prefer not to wear that hospital gown."

"She's right," I grimace. "And I would like a shower."

"Well that's real fine," comments Shonda as she walks through the door. "Why, Ana honey, I am so proud of you!"

"Why?" I ask puzzled, as she sets down the tray.

"Because I thought that I was going to have to chase you out of bed for a shower and to change your clothes," she replies. "I had all my arguments already and everything."

Christian shakes his head and I give her a small smile.

"Oh, well," she sighs. "Guess I will just have to save them for another time. Now Mr. Christian, you go shower and change before I die here of the stink. Then you can make those phone calls."

"I do not stink," answers Christian.

Then he smells his armpits as Shonda clucks in disgust.

"Whoops!" he says. "Can't pass the sniff test."

"Sniff test, my ass," mutters Shonda. "How do you live with this fool?"

I laugh and they both stare at me.

"What?" I ask. "Can't I laugh?"

"Well, Ana," says Shonda. "I was getting to think that you couldn't. I'm glad to see that you are really feeling better, rather than just saying that you are."

She and Christian look at each other with . . . relief. I guess they thought that after yesterday, I was going to be worse off. But I actually _feel _better. I don't necessarily want to stay in the hospital for another two days, but I know that it's a battle that I can't win. I also know that if I want to get out, the fastest way to do it is to get a grip on myself. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel like I can.

I watch Christian head off to the bathroom with his overnight bag. Shonda brings me my breakfast and then goes off to sit in her corner, but thankfully doesn't try to talk to me. I don't want to talk now. I have too many things to think about. I remember talking to Charlotte last night about Mom and her marriages and about how I knew that I had ruined her life. She didn't say anything to try to convince me otherwise, but I know that she didn't agree.

I have never talked about it before. I've thought about it a lot, but I've never actually said the words out loud. I mean, how different would my mother's life have been if I hadn't come along? She wouldn't have had to marry Frank, my biological father. She has always said that he was perfect, the love of her life. But that perfection was never put to the test. And I think that it gave Ray an impossible standard to live up to. How do you compete with a mythological hero?

I was smart enough to know that things weren't all that great between them, even before Steve came into the picture. Ray hasn't changed much since those days. He is still taciturn and somewhat obsessed with sports and fishing. And he's never going to make a lot of money. Of course, that was one of Mom's issues with him. She wanted a better life, but he didn't seem to have any ambition. She would whine and complain and he would sit there and take it. But that's Ray, anything to avoid conflict.

Then Steve came along and swept Mom off of her feet. I never liked him. He was too flashy and liked to throw around his money. I guess you could say that Christian was like that, but he was different. He always dressed sharply, but with an understated elegance. His clothing was expensive, but not showy. Now he was always buying me expensive gifts, but I never got the feeling that he was trying to impress me.

His gifts, in the beginning anyway, always had a purpose. There was a car to keep me safe and a Blackberry to stay in touch with me. The laptop was so that I could research his "lifestyle" on the Internet. Even the clothes had a purpose, so that when he took me out, I would be properly dressed. It wasn't until he bought me the iPad, that he finally gave me a gift that was a true "indulgence."

But how could I say no to that when he was using it to demonstrate how much he cared about me by loading my own personal Christian Grey mix and the British Library App? And then there were the second chance earrings that went so perfectly with the dress, my beautiful blue gown that I wore to the charity auction. But these were gifts of love. He figured out pretty early on that he wasn't going to buy me.

As I think about it, I suddenly realize that it was probably that experience with husband number three that made me so reluctant to taking anything from him. I didn't want to allow myself to be blinded by his money the way that Mom had by _him. _I didn't want to feel cheap and bought. I knew what I wanted from him and it wasn't expensive gifts. After all, Steve's expensive gifts had only bought Mom a world of pain and hurt.

But well, Steve sure as hell seemed to want to buy Mom. He showered her with jewelry, more expensive than anything that Ray could buy her, but nothing nearly as sophisticated as what Christian gave me. For Montesano, Steve was a real catch I guess. I know that some people grumbled that he was a city slicker, who thought that he was better than everyone else. When the word got out of the affair, people first blamed him for trying to lure Mom away from Ray. Then she made it pretty obvious that she wanted to be lured, not only away from Ray, but also away from Montesano.

Ray gave in because he didn't have a choice. I didn't tell them last night but Mom finally was able to convince him to give her a divorce by telling him that she wasn't coming back to him, no matter what. And even if he wouldn't let her marry Steve, she would still take off with him to Texas anyway. And she would bring me with her. And he would never see me again. She was really mad at me when I threatened to defy her and stay with Ray anyway, since I was sixteen years old. But then she played the ultimate guilt card, my biological father.

By then, Ray had decided to give her the divorce anyway. Of course she was furious when she heard the reason. Ray didn't want her to go off and "live in sin" and cause more gossip than there already was in town. He didn't want me to have to deal with it either. It nearly broke his heart to grant her the divorce, but he did it for my sake more than Mom's or his own. As usual, someone else was ruining his life on my behalf.

So Mom and I moved to Texas and that was where Steve showed his true colors . . .

Suddenly, Shonda rouses me from my ruminating.

"Ana, honey," she says. "Since you are done eating, why don't you get your shower before doctor Charlotte comes?"

I hadn't noticed, but I had eaten everything that she had given me.

"Yes," teases Christian, standing before me with his damp, tousled hair and in comfortable looking khakis and a white polo shirt. "You wouldn't want to be all stinky for her."

I look quickly at the clock and see that it's nine twenty.

"Oh, well," I reply. "Even if she has to wait for me, I'm sure that you will be giving her a full report."

"Yes, I will," agrees Shonda. "But for once it will be good. You been doing a real good job of behaving yourself this morning."

Christian rolls his eyes and goes out to the other room, probably to make his business calls. Shonda picks up her copy of _O _magazine and continues to read.

After a minute she looks up and says, "You need help there, Ana?"

"No," I reply, and get out if bed.

I pick up my own overnight bag and when I am inside the bathroom, I look inside. Gail has sent both nightclothes and sweats. I decide to go with the sweats. They are equally as comfortable as the pajamas, but they are real clothes. It will be further proof of my progress. But then I realize that I am not choosing them simply to prove a point. I _want _to wear them because I think that they will make me feel better, less like a patient.

The shower feels good. I feel grimy from my episode yesterday. When I get out, I brush my hair and gratefully pull out the hair dryer that Gail packed. Recently, I haven't had the energy to blow dry my hair, but today I don't feel like sitting around with a wet head while I wait for it to dry. It's thick and so long now, that it takes several hours to completely lose the damp. When I am done, I frown as I look at the ends.

"You know I think that I need a trim," I comment to Shonda as I walk out. "I have a lot of split ends and dead ends here."

She stares at me.

"You're worrying about your hair?"

"Is there anything wrong with that?" I ask puzzled.

"No ma'am," she replies. "It's just that you ain't worried about nothing with your appearance since I've known you. And look at those sweats! I suppose that you have your own stylist who comes to see you?"

"Franco," I say automatically. "I'll ask Christian if he can come here to the hospital."

"My, oh, my, how the other half do live!" she remarks. "But he'll be here. I am sure that Mr. Christian will make it worth his while."

I realize that she is kidding. I suppose that if I was she that I might feel the same way. I obediently take my pill. I can't decide if I want to go back to bed or not. However, the small couch in the room looks comfortable, so I decide to sit there. I notice that Gail has also packed my iPad. I tap on the photo icon and notice that someone has created an album for Christmas 2014. I'm curious because I don't remember anyone taking pictures. When the album opens, I set it on slide show and watch as the pictures come up on the screen.

The first picture in the line up is Teddy looking absolutely delighted with his new trains. He is still in his Christmas pajamas and whoever took the pictures, got him from all angles. Then I notice that Christian is on the floor with him. So Christian wasn't the photographer. Then I see pictures of Phoebe come up. She is looking at her dolly and clutching it. I notice that she is with Grace and myself. So Carrick must have been the photographer.

I look closely at myself and can see how thin I have become. My face looks drawn and tired. My hair is loosely tied back from my face. But most of all I can see how expressionless I look. Even when I am smiling, I am straining at it, as if I am trying too hard. Do I really look that bad? And that was when I was feeling a little better.

There are pictures of later in the day, which include the Taylors. I notice that Sophie has a sad expression on her face and the same kind of smile as I have. She seems to be trying, but not actually succeeding. Poor baby. Once again, I can see that everyone is in the pictures except for Carrick. He never did like having his picture taken. But I am grateful to him for taking the pictures since I don't remember very much of the day. I wonder who loaded them onto my iPad for me.

I start as the door opens and Charlotte walks in.

"Good morning, Dr. Charlotte," Shonda greets her. "I have good news to report this morning."

"I can see that," says Charlotte warmly. "Why Ana! Look at you! You're up and dressed. What are you looking at on your iPad?"

"Pictures from Christmas," I reply. "I am guessing that Carrick took them, since he isn't in any of them. But I don't know who loaded them on here."

"I did," answers Christian as he comes through the door. "I was hoping that you would be interested in seeing them. You seemed a little out of it that day."

"They're lovely," I reply, as I switch it off. "And I am glad to see them."

"Good," he says, as he sits down. "Do you mind if I stay?"

I look at him doubtfully. I know that he and Grace were present last night, but I would really prefer to speak with Charlotte on my own. I think that Christian finds it painful to listen to me. And I have only sit in on his sessions with Flynn on rare occasions.

"I would rather you not," I say hesitantly, because I don't want to hurt his feelings. "I would feel more comfortable if it was just Charlotte."

"That's our cue to leave," says Shonda standing up. "I'm going to have me a little nap. Don't you have some company to hostilely take over or something, Mr. Christian?"

I smile as Christian grimaces.

"Tell me again why I don't fire you?" he asks Shonda.

"I think you knows the reason," she huffs. "You would miss my pretty face, now wouldn't you?"

"Or not," he says drily.

"Mmm, hmm," she says. "What would you do without me to keep you honest? I tells it like it is."

"Just what I always wanted," he groans. "Ros living in the house."

"Ros," she ponders. "Ain't she that woman that makes all your money for you?"

"And keeps him in line," I add.

They all stare at me. Suddenly I feel very uncomfortable.

"Did I say something wrong?" I ask nervously.

"No, not at all, Ana," replies Charlotte. "It's just that I've never heard you speak in such a . . . playful tone before. Shonda really does have good news for me. But she doesn't have to report it. I can see it for myself."

She inclines her head at Shonda and Christian and they leave us alone. Then she pulls over a chair and makes herself comfortable. She looks at me closely for a minute.

"You are looking better than I have ever see you before," she comments. "Even after your ordeal yesterday and the fact that you are going to be staying here for the next two days, you almost seem cheerful."

"Almost," I admit.

"And you are not putting on a performance so that you can get out more quickly," she adds.

"I don't _think _so," I admit. "I mean I did choose to wear the sweats to make a better impression and I didn't go back to bed after my shower. But I ate all my breakfast, showering was my own idea, and I picked up the iPad without any encouragement."

"So you are feeling more interested in life?" she asks.

"Yes . . . but . . ."

"Yes, but I'm afraid that it won't last," I say.

"Are you waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I admit.

"That is not unusual," she explains. "You've been feeling so rotten for so long, that you have a hard time believing that you are actually feeling better. It takes time to lose that feeling. But I want you to realize that the feeling is _real, _even if it's transitory. You may slip a little, but you can regain the ground that you lose. Then each time you slip, you will fall a little less far and come back a little stronger. The key is not to get too discouraged when you stumble and conversely not to be encouraged by your progress."

"Uh, okay."

"It will take time to sink in," she adds. "And it will take time to climb out of the abyss into which you say that you believe you have fallen into. The trick is to keep climbing."

"Do you think that I have hit bottom?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," she says. "I know that I have used that metaphor before, that sometimes you have to hit bottom before you can push off and start to rise again. But the key word there is _sometimes. _You can also stop the sinking and begin to pull yourself up to the surface again if you're a good swimmer."

"So then are you trying to teach me to swim?" I ask.

"That's the idea," she says. "When you hit bottom it's very painful. And you can really injure yourself. I will try to prevent that. But in answer to your original question, I would have to say that you haven't hit bottom but right now you are swimming up of your own accord."

"What makes you say that?"

"First of all, you were quick to pick up on the modified metaphor," she says. "And secondly, you didn't respond to my talking about slipping back by being discouraged. A week ago, you would have."

"So maybe I am learning how to swim?" I ask hopefully.

"I think that you are," she replies firmly. "Now, I would like to know how you feel about staying it the hospital. Last night you seemed resigned to your fate, but how do you feel about it now?"

"I think that it may be all right," I admit. "I mean this morning, I was thinking about what we talked about last night, you know, about my mother's husbands. I think I am beginning to put some of those pieces together. I mean, I don't exactly _like _being in here, but it helps because I don't have to worry about how my kids feel about me being sick or how much extra work that I am causing for everyone. I feel like I have some space to work things out."

"You do," she says. "And that was why I decided to keep you here rather than try to override the attending physician. One of the reasons that people stay in the psych ward, in addition to stabilizing their meds is because it is actually a protective environment. It allows them to focus better on their own issues. Your depression has made it difficult for you to focus, but I think that you are starting to now."

"Do I belong in the psych ward?" I ask.

"No, I think that you are better off where you are," she replies. "But I would like to suggest something that I believe would help."

"What is that?"

"Group therapy," she answers. "There is a group here at the hospital for women with postpartum depression. It has both inpatients, like you, and outpatients. Right now, I think that you are too isolated. I think that you would benefit from talking with women who share your sickness. They are all also at various stages of recovery, so you would get the opportunity to see some women who have almost made it through the dark tunnel. Listening and sharing would be very beneficial for you."

"Would that mean that I would stop working with you?" I ask anxiously.

"Not at all," she says immediately. "For one thing, after your group sessions, I can help you process what you've seen and heard. You also need someone to monitor your meds. But you don't have to decide now. Think about it and then if you want, you can go tomorrow. The group meets five days a week. Will you at least think about it?"

"Yes," I say. "What does Christian think about it? Won't he want to run background checks on everyone and make them sign NDAs?"

"I believe that John has talked him out of that," she replies. "Trust is the basis of a therapy group working together. All that paperwork implies a level of distrust. I doubt that the women in the group would accept you if he put them through that."

"Is there a chance that the women won't accept me?" I ask. "Does that happen often?"

"It doesn't happen often," she says honestly. "But it does happen. Every time a new member enters or an old one leaves the dynamic changes. If the others don't feel safe enough to speak openly and honestly, the group won't work."

"I see," I reply. "But what if someone recognizes me?"

"This isn't Alcoholics Anonymous," she says. "If someone recognizes you, so what? Even rich people can have problems."

"Okay, I'll think about it," I repeat. "I guess I'm just afraid of what will happen if the media gets a hold of the story."

"If they did," she says seriously. "It would not only harm you but every member of the group. No one, whether she is famous or not, is comfortable with the whole world knowing about her private business."

"Wouldn't I be putting the whole group at risk then?" I ask, feeling worried.

"I doubt it," she replies. "After all, you have now been brought into the hospital twice with what have been designated as attempted suicides and the press hasn't picked up on it. That is where your husband's security team has done an excellent job. There is no reason to think that they couldn't manage the same getting you in and out of the therapy sessions here. The only risk would be from another patient or hospital staff.

"Such a breach by a hospital staff member would most likely result in him or her being fired and then blacklisted. No hospital wants to hire someone who had broken HIPA rules. It is simply too great a risk. And as I have said, your fellow patients have as much self-interest as you do in keeping their treatment private."

"What about anonymous tips?" I ask.

"As if anyone could remain anonymous from your husband's security team," she replies. "Listen, Ana. I know that you are always inclined to put others' interests ahead of your own. In this case, the only factor that you should consider is whether or not you think that this kind of treatment would be beneficial _for you. _That is what you need to think about."

"Okay," I say. "That's how I will try to think about it."

"Good," she says. "Now, I would like to discuss your mother's four marriages. It is important for you to understand that the failure of two of her marriages was not your fault."

"Then whose fault was it?" I ask with an edge in my voice.

"To put it bluntly, hers," she replies. "She was in her mid-thirties when she decided to divorce Ray, marry Steve, and then divorce Steve. She was certainly old enough to make her own choices by then."

"But she wouldn't have married Ray if it wasn't for me," I object.

"Her choice," she answers. "She was in a tough spot, and marrying Ray was the way that she saw to get out of it. She may have presented to you as her only choice, but obviously there were others."

"But she married my father, Frank, because of me," I respond. "If she hadn't gotten pregnant . . . "

"Did she?" Charlotte interrupts. "Think about it. She was the one who got pregnant, and remember that she didn't have to. In 1989 there were more than enough birth control options out there. She may have only been eighteen, but that is certainly old enough for her to have known about them. In fact, she probably had known about them since health class in high school."

"But what if the birth control failed?" I ask.

"Did she ever tell you that?" asks Charlotte.

"No, but . . . "

"Ana, don't you think that she would have told if you were a 'mistake,' so to speak?" she asks. "If she wasn't properly protecting herself from an unwanted pregnancy then it was her fault not yours. I don't know enough about it and neither do you, but it sounds like Frank was an old-fashioned type of guy who was determined to do right by both her and you.

"And that was his choice. The only thing that was not his choice was dying in a training accident the day after you were born. And _that _wasn't your fault either. Ray told me that it was another soldier who was driving recklessly and Frank was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But look at how I messed up Ray's life," I say.

"His choice," replies Charlotte. "He must have known that Carla wasn't head over heels in love with him. He took a risk by marrying her to help her out of a tight spot. He gambled and lost, but he has never given any indication that he was sorry that he did it, has he?"

"No," I admit.

"And as far as the divorce was concerned and what you overheard," she continues. "Carla was looking for some way, any way, to get him to agree to a divorce. From what I can tell, she _was _head over heels in love with Steve. Now, that is never a strong basis for a marriage. They married too quickly, before they really knew each other."

"They didn't marry as quickly as Christian and I did," I argue.

"Yes," she replies. "But everything that you have told me about your courtship indicates that you knew each other very well. You spent a lot of time discovering the good, the bad, and the ugly about one another. And your marriage had not only lasted, but is also incredibly strong. Christian isn't going anywhere and neither are you. Deep down you know that."

"But what happened with Steve . . . " I begin.

"Did you have any role in that?" she asks sternly.

I don't know what to say. I don't think that I did, but I can't be sure. After all, how much strain did it put on their marriage to have a teenage girl living with them? I mean. I know that I was a good kid, but I never really liked Steve and I think that he knew it.

"No," I finally admit. "I didn't have an active role, but I know that I made things worse."

"In what way?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I say. "Let's leave it that after I left they got divorced and then Mom went her own way."

"Explain what you mean by that please?" she asks.

"Well, after the divorce, she didn't want to come back home," I explain. "Even though Ray and I both asked her to. She wasn't really very good at taking care if herself. But she said that she wanted to live some place hot and dry. So she went to Vegas. Things were booming then and she found a job. Then she met Bob and then fell in love, really in love, and now he takes care of her. He gives her all the things that Ray and I couldn't. Don't you see? Once she was free of me, she finally found happiness."

"So you see a cause and effect relationship between her living apart from you and her finally finding a good husband?" she asks.

"Don't you?"

"No, not at all," she replies. "I see a woman who went through a very tough time with husband number three and probably learned some very hard lessons. Now I am only guessing at this point, but I suspect that after that experience she became more discerning about the men she dated and was much more careful about the next man she married. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose," I say.

"So then, you need to realize that just as all of her bad choices were hers and hers alone, we can give her responsibility for this very good choice," she explains. "Lets face it. You were about to go off to college and start your own life. At your age, she was already married and pregnant. She did what she needed to do for herself. And she left you free to pursue your own life."

"I guess that makes sense," I admit.

"At some point, the two of you are going to need to sit down and honestly discuss this," she says. "I think that it is the only way that you will finally come to terms with it. But Ana, she still has a lot of things to deal with herself. It may be awhile before you have that conversation. In the meantime, you are going to need to move forward with your own life."

"I think that I see," I agree.

My head is starting to hurt from this discussion. And I feel very tired. In fact, I feel like I have just taken a very long hike. I think that Charlotte sees this too.

"Ana," she says gently. "I think that it would be a good idea for you and Christian to order lunch. Then it would be good for you to have a nap. You have a lot of things to think about now. How does that sound?"

"That sounds good," I say in relief.

She smiles at me.

"Ana," she says. "We have covered a lot of really hard ground today. But it will take some time for you to really let go of some of the guilt that you feel with regard to lives of those around you. You are finally beginning to move towards the light, but you still have a way to go."

"Do you really think that I am beginning to recover?" I ask.

"Yes, I," she answers warmly. "But you don't want to push yourself too hard, too fast. Give yourself some time."

"Okay," I reply.

As she goes out to talk to Christian, I have to decide whether or not to go back to bed. But Shonda immediately comes in and makes up my mind for me.

"Now Mr. Christian is sending Sawyer out for some lunch for you two," she says briskly. "Why don't you go over and sit at that table while I do some cleaning up in here."

She goes straight to the bed and strips off the linens.

"Good Lord," she mutters. "How the other half do live. Plain old hospital sheets ain't good enough for Mrs. Grey. Oh, no. Mrs. Gail go and send in these satin sheets."

I smile as I remember why I wanted her around in the first place. She keeps it real. I'm just glad that she's finished before Christian comes in. He walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"How's my girl?" he asks softly.

"Better, I think," I say and he smiles in response.

And this time I really mean it. He sits down across from me and begins to tell me about his latest acquisition for Grey Holdings. I try to listen with interest, but all things that I talked about with Charlotte are still swirling around in my head. But I smile as he rambles on, glad that he seems to be less worried about me. It is good to see him without the tension in his eyes and in his voice. Hopefully, it will remain at bay.


	36. Progress

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 30: Progress**

When I leave Ana's room after our lunch together, Shonda walks in, but I barely notice her, as I immediately go over to Charlotte, who is busy tapping away on her laptop.

"Please tell me that the improvement in Ana's mood is real?" I practically beg her.

"It's real," she assures me. "It may not remain this elevated permanently, but I am starting to see the other Ana who has been hiding beneath of the surface of her melancholy."

"What is the biggest indicator?" I ask.

"Her sense of humor," she says. "Of course, it is only apparent in her lighter conversations, but it is still there."

"Have you made any more progress in finding out more about her mother and husband number?" I ask.

"Not really," she says. "She didn't want to talk about it, so I let it go. I spent most of my time with her today trying to convince her that she is not responsible for her mother's, and to a lesser extent Ray's, choices in life. It is going to take her some time to get past that however. But she needs to, because that is at the most basic root of her feelings, those of guilt."

"Well," I sat thoughtfully. "I know that she has always felt the need to take care of her mother. My experience with her is that for a woman over forty, she is pretty scatter-brained and sometimes irresponsible."

"There's no age limit on 'scattered-brained,'" she replies. "Ana grew up as what you might call a parental-child. That often happens when a parent is not well equipped to cope with life. It has taken Carla a long time to grow up, but I think that she finally has. Her husband Bob is a good man and he is not blind to her faults. He can see that she is in pain right now because of Ana's illness. He is going to try to help see her through it, but she is very resistant."

"Why do you think that is?" I ask.

"Whatever happened with husband number three was very traumatic for both Carla and Ana," she says. "Carla is doing her best to pretend that it never happened, but right now she is failing miserably. Until she gets the help she needs, it is really not a good idea to let her near Ana. Someday, when they are both stronger, they will be able to work through it together. For now, it is better to let it be."

"What can I do to help her?" I ask.

"Just keep being there whenever she needs you," she replies. "I know that this must be difficult for you, but if you can keep your own frustration with the situation to a minimum in her presence, that would be the most helpful."

"That's what I pay Flynn for," I answer grimly. "He lets me rant and rave. And then I have my trainer Claude Bastille. I get to kick the shit out of him every once in a while."

"Interesting," she says. "Has Ana ever worked out with him?"

"She used to work out regularly," I say. "But she hadn't shown any interest since Phoebe was born. I have not been inclined to force her."

"I'll talk to her about that," she says. "In addition to a good workout producing some great endorphins to bolster her mood, it would also increase her appetite. She really needs to put on some weight."

"I will certainly support that," I reply. "What did she say to the idea of group therapy?"

"She's thinking about it," she answers. "It's not something that we can force on her. Just because I see the benefits, I don't want to put her in a situation where she doesn't feel safe. She shares your security concerns and if she feels anxious or shows in any way that she doesn't trust the other patients then it won't work."

"Do you really think that it could help her?" I ask.

"Yes, I do," she says emphatically.

"Then I will try to assure her that we will handle the security," I say after a minute. "If I call Taylor and Welch, I am sure that we can work something out. I feel very encouraged by her progress today."

"So am I," she acknowledges. "I've always known that there was a very strong woman hiding beneath all of that apathy and melancholy. Now that I've seen a glimpse of her, I would like to continue to try and coax her out."

"I've missed her very much," I say softly.

"I know that you have," she replies. "If you hang in there a little longer, I think that you will finally see your wife again, the woman that you fell in love with."

"She will always be the woman that I fell in love with," I answer.

She gives me a nod and then asks, "Are you going to see John today?"

"Yes," I reply. "I have an appointment at four."

"Good," she says. "You have a lot to discuss with him. It might also be good if you went home to visit the children. Will you be sleeping here again tonight?"

"If Ana wants me to, I will," I respond.

"If you do, then it is doubly important that you stop by."

"I don't really think that it is a good idea to bring them here," I say hesitantly.

"I agree," she says. "Unless Teddy is very anxious and wants to make sure that she is okay. But don't suggest it. It is much harder for all of them if they have a short visit and then need to leave. And Ana admits that she likes having the space to think."

"I know," I say. "I remember that very early in our relationship, she was bothered by the fact that I was so possessive of her time. I gave her a hard time when she went away for a short time to visit her mother in Georgia. Especially when she said that she needed a break from me and our intensity."

"She told me about that," she comments. "And you followed her anyway."

"I couldn't stand to be away from her," I admit. "That was when I met her mother. I guess I found her to be a little strange even then."

"Why is that?"

"Well, I could see that things weren't going to go well with Ana," I explain. "So I left them drinking in the bar. Boy, could Carla pound back those Cosmos. Ana has always been a lightweight, but Carla could definitely hold her own. Anyway, Carla sent her upstairs to follow me. Even told her not to worry about coming home that night. She hardly knew me and yet she was practically throwing her into my bed."

"Interesting," she says. "Ana didn't give me quite the same detail in that story."

"I think that she was a little embarrassed by it," I say. "But we didn't really talk about it much after. The scene when she returned to Seattle was not very pretty. But it was the turning point in our relationship. I realized that I would go out of my mind if we couldn't reconcile. And what it did to her . . . when I first saw her again she looked terrible. After that I thought that I would never hurt her like that again."

"But you did," she says looking at me sharply. "When you found out that she was pregnant with Teddy."

"Yes," I admit. "I messed up again and then I very nearly lost both of them."

She looks at me seriously.

"Try to remember that if she has another relapse," she says. "It will help you to put things in perspective if you can recall the times when despite the setbacks, you and she always managed to pull through. And in all cases, it made you stronger."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," I say. "But it's easy to forget."

"When you're up to your ass in alligators, it is very easy to forget that your original intention was to drain the swamp," she answers with a smile.

"That's a good one," I say. "I'll have to remember it."

She chuckles as she leaves me so that she can have a break before I leave for Flynn's office. I am not sure of whether I should stay here or go back in to stay with Ana. I decide to check on her and then make my decision. When I open the door, Shonda's head pops up and she puts her finger to her lips. I can see that Ana is sound asleep, but I can't bear to be in the other room, so close and yet so far. I take my seat beside the bed to watch Sleeping Beauty rest.

It takes all of my self-control not to brush her hair back or stroke her cheek. I can see a faint hint of color below the surface of her skin and for once her face looks peaceful in repose. She is lying curled up in the fetal position, with her face resting on both hands as if she were praying. She looks younger than twenty-five, more like a young teenager. Looking at her like this, it is hard to remember that she is the mother of two small children.

I remember the first time I watched her sleep. Was it really three and a half years ago? She had come out of a bar nearly dead drunk and I had to rescue her from Jose. It's hard to realize that now he has become a good friend to both of us. But after I put her to bed, I lay down beside her to watch her. At the time I told myself that I didn't want her to turn over on her back and suffocate again if she threw up. I just couldn't help but be mesmerized by her innocent beauty.

Then there was the night in Savannah when I watched her sleep and heard her talk. She begged me to stay, to never leave her. Then she said that she loved me. Somehow hearing her say it in her sleep wasn't nearly as terrifying as hearing her say it out loud. But then I chased her away two nights later when I whipped her with that belt. And afterwards I lay down beside her, frightened to hold her, and then let her slip away.

But in the end, she came back to me. I slept with her in my arms, night after night. We married and everything should have been fine. But how many times have I messed up? I left welts her after the incident of the topless sunbathing. I should have realized that her sensitive skin would bruise up from the metal handcuffs. Then she bought me a camera and the next morning I couldn't help myself.

She was so pissed off when we got back home and she uploaded all the pictures of her sleeping. But I couldn't resist. She was just so beautiful. And again she was talking worried about me.

The hardest time that I ever had to watch her sleep was after the Jack Hyde incident. There she was, lying bruised and bandaged because I had been such an idiot. I went nuts because she was pregnant and I lost her trust. And because of that, nearly lost her and Teddy. What was I thinking?

Unable to leave her side, I sit and watch her sleep as the minutes tick by. Suddenly, I am startled awake by someone touching my shoulder. I must have drifted off without realizing it.

"You will need to leave now so that you don't miss your appointment with John," whispers Charlotte.

I look at Ana and see that she is still sleeping soundly.

"You'll tell her that I was here, won't you?" I ask.

"Of course," she answers softly.

When I go outside of the suite, I see Taylor talking with Sawyer.

"How is everything at home, Taylor?" I ask. "How are the children?"

"Gail has everything under control," he replies. "Jose called to see how Ana was doing. He didn't know that she had gone back to the hospital. He and Maritza came over to play with the children. Teddy was very happy to see his Uncle Joe."

"I'm sure," I reply. "How was Sophie's first day back at school?"

"She came home with a pile of homework, but she seemed to be happy to be back in her old routine," he answers. "I hope that you don't mind, but we put her in Mrs. Grey's office so that she could have a quiet place to work. Doing her homework in the kitchen has not been ideal, but Gail doesn't want to leave her in the apartment by herself."

"That's no problem at all," I say. "I'm sorry that I didn't think of it myself."

"You've had a lot on your mind, sir," he replies. "How is Mrs. Grey doing? Sawyer says that she has made some progress."

"She has," I say. "I think that it was a good call to keep her here. Taylor, you can do me a favor. Could you find out how the security would work if Ana started group therapy here? No background checks or anything like that. I am just concerned with getting her in and out as securely and inconspicuously as possible."

"I will look into it," he replies. "I suppose that I can get the particulars from Dr. Tyler?"

"Yes, you can."

"Good," he says. "I will work on it while you have your meeting with Dr. Flynn."

As we walk out to the car, I realize how formal Taylor is. It doesn't bother me of course. It's all a part of his professional persona. When we arrive at Flynn's office, I get out as he picks up his cell phone to begin his research and planning. As usual, I don't have to wait.

"Christian," Flynn greets me as I enter. "You are looking better than I expected after yesterday."

"I presume that you have spoken to Charlotte today," I answer.

"Yes, I have."

"Then you know why," I answer. "We are finally seeing some real progress in Ana's recovery."

"What have you noticed for yourself?" he asks.

"Well, she has more interest in things like taking a shower and eating," I say. "She has even been eating better. She was looking at the Christmas pictures that I put on her iPad. Oh, and she had a bit of a sense of humor."

"That's good," he says. "I also understand that she shared some information about what set her off. She is feeling that she is at fault for all of the problems in her mother's life and also Ray's."

"Yes," I say. "Charlotte is working hard to convince her that Carla's problems stem from the choices that _she _made, not the fact that Ana was born. It's a hard sell."

"Naturally it is," he says. "She has twenty-five years of guilt that she has to let go of. She can't just drop all that overnight."

"That's what Charlotte said," I reply. "But what I can't quite figure out is why Ana suddenly woke up this morning feeling better."

"Well, a big part of that may have been just talking about all of that last night," he replies. "She let some things go a little. And then talking them through again with Charlotte this morning helped her to let go a little more."

"She was sleeping so peacefully when I left," I say. "Her face looked more relaxed than it has in a while."

"So does yours, Christian," he says. "What would you like to discuss about you, now that we've talked about Ana?"

"Can't we talk more about Ana?"

"Christian," he replies patiently. "At the moment there isn't too much else to say about Ana. You need to sit back for a minute and stop thinking about her needs and think about your own."

"Needs?" I ask suspiciously.

"Yes, Christian, _those _needs," he says drily. "Now you have never been shy about discussing your sex life before. Let's get things out in the open."

"Well, this is going to be a short discussion," I say in annoyance. "Right now I, we, don't have a sex life."

"All the more reason to talk about it," he replies. "You cannot tell me that it is not difficult sleeping night after night in the same bed with your wife and not be able to touch her _that way_."

"I told you that I am used to controlling those urges," I growl at him. "Like when I went away to Harvard."

"Different scenario," he says dismissively. "You were in Massachusetts and Elena was on the opposite coast in Washington. Self-denial is a lot easier when you don't have to sleep with it."

"Okay, so it's hard," I admit. "I miss Ana like hell. But I won't do anything to hurt her."

"That's because you love her," he comments. "You didn't love Elena. In fact, you said that the only woman that you have ever made love to is Ana. You have an emotional connection as well as a physical one. Leaving the physical needs aside for the moment, how does this affect you emotionally?"

"Do I really need to discuss this shit with you right now?" I ask insolently.

"Based on that answer, I would say yes," he says calmly.

"Damn it all to hell!" I explode. "What the fuck are you trying to do to me? Exactly what the fuck does 'based on your answer' mean?"

"That answer has convinced me even more firmly," he says patiently. "But before you eviscerate me, let me explain. Please sit down!"

I only then realize that I am standing over him with my fists clenched. I am angry, confused, and I feel as though I have just been punched in the stomach. Flynn just looks back directly into my eyes with compassion. Feeling a little ridiculous, I sit back down again. The pain washes over me and I put my head in my hands.

"Christian," he says gently. "When I said 'based on your response,' it was a reference to your sudden outburst of swear words. You may not have noticed, but since Teddy was born, you have cleaned up your language at lot. I know now how upset and frustrated you are when you resort to your old epithets.

"Both of us know that you have enormous self-control. But you love Ana not only on a very spiritual plane, as your soul mate. You also love her very passionately and you have shared a very satisfying sexual relationship with her. As much as you are trying to respond to her needs, you cannot simply shut down that side of your feeling for her, especially for this long, without creating stress for yourself. And I am not just talking about the last six weeks. Even before that you were barely able to touch her. Am I right?"

"Yes," I reply. "But I can't force her to do something that I know would hurt her. And I will not go looking for gratification elsewhere. My subs were pretty much interchangeable. Ana is a one of a kind, my true love. I will not betray her like that."

"I am not suggesting that you should," he answers. "You don't have to abstain from romance. Every physical interaction between you does not have to result in sex. I know that you are focused on protecting her. But maybe _she _wants a little more than protection."

"Come again?" I say. "She's been walking around looking tired and sad since Phoebe was born. It's like the light just went out if her."

"But you have just described to me that you are seeing measurable improvement," I says reasonably. "Now I'm not saying that you should go looking for wild, orgasmic sex. But there are little romantic ways to show her that you love her. And they shouldn't involve showering her with expensive gifts. I'm talking about simple, meaningful ways of showing her that you still see her as a woman."

I think on it for a minute.

"Like I said, the other day, I loaded up a bunch of Christmas pictures on her iPad for her," I say slowly. "She hadn't looked at them at home, but Gail sent the iPad to her with the clothes. She really liked looking at them. They made her kind of happy."

"Does she know that you put them there?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "I first gave her the iPad when I was trying to make up with her, after that horrible week without her. I put all kinds of stuff on it then. I made her a playlist and I put on a couple of Apps that I thought that she would like. She really likes the British Library App."

"Christian," he says. "That was brilliant. You put on the pictures to help her see the happy aspects of Christmas. But you also put them on an old gift that was evocative of your love for her. I am sure that she views it as something that has very warm memories attached to it. Have you ever used the FaceTime App?"

"Face Time?" I ask.

"You know," he says. "It uses the webcam so that you can have conversations in real time. You link it up to another computer and you can talk. It is the Apple version of Skype."

"Oh," I say sheepishly. "I have a tendency to ignore the Apps that I don't use."

"Well, how about this?" he suggests. "I know that you have a couple of MacBooks at home. Why don't you set up a link between her and Teddy so that they can talk to one another. You don't want to bring him to the hospital, but this way they could see each. It would make both of them feel better, but you wouldn't have the gut wrenching separation that a physical visit would."

"I'm . . . um . . . not sure of how to do that," I admit.

"Ask Sophie," he answers with a smile.

"Sophie?"

"Whenever you want to know about messaging and communicating software, always go to a young person," he advises. "I hate to admit it, but my older son is her age and he has taught me how to do all kinds of things."

"Face Time?" I ask, grinning.

"Yes," he says reluctantly. "Remember that these kids don't remember a time when you couldn't use the computer to do all this stuff. And they have grown learning how to continuously upgrade, so to speak, their computer skills."

"I guess that makes sense," I reply. "And we couldn't do it tonight without Barney making a house call."

"Or laughing at you."

"That too," I grimace.

"Tell me," he adds thoughtfully. "You made her a playlist. Now didn't you tell me that she likes listening to you play the piano, and that's he had her favorite pieces?"

"Yes," I answer. "Hey! I could make her a CD!"

"Or a few MP3 files to load onto the iPad."

"That too," I agree.

"Christian," he says. "These are the kind of things that you can turn into the kinds of gentle mood-setting that lead to romance. Play music that holds good memories for her. Buy her flowers, but not just the biggest bouquet that you can find. Pick flowers that evoke happy memories for her. Smell is the sense that is actually the most evocative sense."

"Yes, I hate to admit it," I say. "But it all makes sense. She has never felt comfortable with expensive gifts."

"Just be careful not to overwhelm her," he warns. "Go slowly and carefully. Let her lead the way."

"But doesn't the medication suppress libido?" I ask.

"Actually, it doesn't," he replies. "The warning is 'only in rare cases.' You have a pretty good shot that the meds won't interfere. The hormones might and you have less control over that, but if you communicate to her that you don't expect too much to soon, you may discover that she is more responsive than you realize. However I have one _caveat?"_

"What's that?"

"Ana has a tendency to feel guilty over the smallest things," he answers. "And she feels guilt whether she should or not. It may be hard, but you need to communicate to her that she is not to feel guilty for not 'meeting your needs.'"

"That's a tall order when you are talking about a woman who almost OD'ed on Tylenol because she thinks that she ruined everyone's lives," I sigh.

"Since I've known you, you have always been pretty resourceful," he says. "Now our time is up and I believe that you have a dinner date with your kids."

"Yes, I do," I say, feeling a little bit better about things.

"Good," he says. "I have a dinner date with my kids too."

"No Rhiann?" I ask.

"No," he says. "The next step after play dates is PTA meetings. She was just elected secretary. It keeps her busy, but it means that I have more kid duty."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he smiles. "I may complain about being a PTA widower, but I love the time with the boys."

After we shake hands, I go back out to the car where Taylor is waiting.

"I've made the arrangements for the group therapy security," he says.

"Good," I reply. "Tell me. Do you know anything about Face Time?"

"Of course," he says. "That's how Sophie and I kept in touch while she was living in Colorado."

"Oh," I reply, feeling a little stupid. "Could you help me set up a link to Ana's iPad."

"No problem," he answers.

On the drive back home, I think of what Flynn said about finding little ways to romance Ana. I know that I will have to work hard to keep her from thinking that I have an ulterior motive . . . Okay, I'll admit it. I do. But what the hell? I miss my wife. At least I feel comfortable thinking about it without feeling like a jerk anymore.


	37. Another Step Forward

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: Several of you have commented that Christian should have been familiar with the Apple product "FaceTime." My feeling is that Grey Enterprises would have had a much more sophisticated video conferencing program, probably one specifically designed by Barney with all kinds of security controls so that company secrets could not be hacked. FaceTime is pretty much a consumer App that the average person would use, as opposed to a multi-billionaire businessman. It is also not the most commonly used one.**

**For this of us who have had consultations and meetings using video conferencing, there are a lot more sophisticated products out there, which allow, in addition to picture and voice, presentation and editing of documents in real time. All Christian needed for his purposes is for Ana and Teddy to see each other when they talked.**

**Chapter 31: Another Step Forward**

Before I went to see Ana, I had already heard the good news that she was better. While he was on his way home from his appointment with Flynn, he phoned me to tell me about it. He really wanted to go back to the hospital, but Charlotte convinced him that he needed to spend some time with the kids. He asked me to have dinner with her and keep her company until he could get there.

I laughed.

"Chances are that Phoebe won't know the difference," I tell him honestly. "And Teddy thinks that he is the center of the universe. But I will be happy to go see Ana. It would be nice if we could have dinner together."

"That sounds good," he answered a little hesitantly.

"What is it, Christian?"

"Well, I was just thinking about how little time that you and Dad have had together recently," he replied. "I mean, it seems like you are always with us."

"Trust me," I said. "He is busy. He has been playing the proud Grampa for Ava, so that she doesn't feel like we are ignoring her. And he has been dealing with Mia."

"The wedding?"

"What else?" I sigh. "For the next year, she will have us all tied up in knots with the planning. She wants to have the fairytale wedding of the century, Ethan is starting to worry that he doesn't have enough friends to be the groomsmen."

"You know, Mother," he commented. "Mia _has _been waiting a long time for this day. And she always did like to do things dramatically. I think that we can be pretty sure that this will be her only wedding. I don't see why we can't indulge her."

"Do you want to foot the bill?" I asked grimly, knowing that her expectations were starting to run close to $100,000.

"Sure," he replied smoothly. "No problem. Anything for my baby sister. Skies the limit!"

"Christian," I said sternly. "I know that you are thrilled with Ana's improvement, but there is no reason to let Mia go overboard."

"Okay, Mother," he said. "This isn't about Ana. It's about Mia. You know how much that she has done for me just by being my sister. I mean, who knows where I would even be today if you hadn't brought her home? So just let me do this for her, besides . . . "

"Besides what?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well . . . um . . . back when she was worried that Ethan would never get around to asking her," he admitted. "I kind of promised her that I would make sure that she had the wedding of her dreams. You know, just to cheer her up."

"I don't know which of you is more incorrigible," I replied, shaking my head even though he couldn't see me. "You, for outrageously spoiling her, or her, for manipulating her into it."

"Partners in crime!" he answered cheerfully.

After I hung up I couldn't help but smile. Christian was out to vie with Bill Gates for the title of richest man in Washington State. Even if Mia were to get totally out of control (which was a likely probability), it wouldn't set him back in that goal by much. And there was no arguing that until Ana came along, Mia had been the most positive influence in his life. Even in his darkest days of rebellion, he had never lost that soft place in his heart for his sister.

I meet Charlotte on her way out of Ana's room as I am going in.

"Are you leaving for the night?" I inquire.

"Yes. It's interesting," she replies thoughtfully. "I am enjoying discovering this new, somewhat happier Ana, but I am afraid that as her doctor, if I hang around too much that she will think that she is still very sick. She is pleased that you will be here to keep her company until Christian comes tonight."

"Is he spending the night again?"

"Yes," she replies. "Ana just spoke with him and she wants him here. She is insisting that they bring in another bed so that he doesn't have to sleep in a chair again."

"Not that he would mind," I say. "But he will be more comfortable. Tell me, have you made any more progress on the subject of husband number three?"

"No, she's locked up tight," she answers. "She's not ready to face it. But considering the number of things that she told us last night and then discussed with me this morning, I don't want to push her."

"I understand," I say reluctantly. "I am very curious, but of course we need to realize that our curiosity cannot outweigh the benefit of allowing her to tell the story in her own time. What does she think of group therapy?"

"When she woke up this afternoon, she had some very positive feelings," she replies. "She thinks that it's a good idea, but is worried about the security. The last I heard, Taylor was going to talk to this man Welch about it. So Ana is hopeful that something can be worked out. She would like the opportunity to speak with other women who are going through the same thing."

"Dr. Riley runs a very good group," I say. "But I hope that Ana is ready for the fact that it is comprised of women all across the social strata."

"Shonda already told her about that," she chuckles. "She told her that she better send Sawyer out the Walmart or Kmart to get her some 'normal' clothes like 'real people' wear."

"Shonda does have a way with words," I reply. "But she is right. Ana really can't go in wearing her designer labels and expect to be accepted on the spot."

"Yes," agrees Charlotte. "Knowing Ana as I do, it will probably be a while before she will start to really talk. Most of the group will probably make their judgments based on her appearance. It's not that she should pretend to be something that she's not, but her dress should be as low key as her manner. After all, until she met Christian, she lived essentially a lower-middle class life. That is why she is so down-to-earth. And that will resonate well with the other patients when they get to know her."

"Well, all I know is that Riley is good at what she does," I answer. "I am sure that in the end, it will all work out."

Suddenly we hear a voice from Ana's room.

"Dr. Grace is you out there?" calls Shonda. "Your food is getting cold."

Ana looks up at me, and smiles a little. She is out of bed and wearing sweats, sitting at the table with a box from the Fairmont, which I know holds our dinner. No, Ana is definitely not the average psychiatric patient. I am beginning to think that perhaps if she needs more inpatient treatment, it might be a good idea to send her to a private facility that caters to the rich and famous.

"Good evening, Grace," she says, smiling a little more. "Did you have a good day?"

"I had a very good day," I answer, returning her smile. "How was your day?"

She looks thoughtful.

"I think that it was pretty good," she replies. "I got up and had breakfast and looked at the Christmas pictures. Then Charlotte and I had a long conversation. Then I took a nap and when I woke up I talked to Charlotte again. She suggested that I might want to join the therapy group that Dr. Riley runs for women with postpartum depression. Do you know her?"

"I don't really know her well," I admit. "In fact it would probably be better to say that I know _of _her. She has an excellent reputation."

"That's what everyone says," comments Ana. "Even Shonda likes her."

"Well, if Shonda likes her," I say. "Then she must be good. If she weren't, Shonda would be the first person to tell you. Are you interested?"

"Actually, I am kind of interested," she replies. "I mean, it sounds like it could be good. I haven't really had the chance to talk to other people who are, you know, sick like me. But I'm worried about the security."

"I know that Christian has Taylor looking into it," I say. "I know that if it is something that you want, he will do whatever is necessary to make it happen. I don't see why your privacy could not be insured as you go in and out of sessions. And you can be sure that no one would talk. These kinds of groups rely in trust."

"That's what Charlotte said," she sighs. "I guess nothing in life is certain. And I mean if it doesn't work out, there's no rule saying that I would have to continue."

"If it's not working," I reply. "Then it would be best for all concerned if you didn't continue. But the only way to know is if you give it a try."

"Did you discuss this with Charlotte?"

"No," I answer, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," she replies. "It seems like you are saying everything that she told me."

"Maybe it's because we are both doctors," I suggest. "And we see eye to eye about how these things work."

"Probably," she says. "Maybe that's why I trust her so much. She reminds me of you."

I am moved that she feels so strongly that she would measure a nationally famous psychiatrist against me. To hide my own emotions, I take a peek in the box.

"You were in the mood for Italian food?" I ask.

"Vegetable lasagna is one of my favorites," she replies. "And everyone is on my back because I've lost so much weight that I even asked for garlic bread."

"And cannoli, I see."

"I'm not sure that I can eat it all," she admits. "But I am sure that Christian will be happy to take care of anything that I don't eat. Do you know what he is having fir dinner tonight?"

"I have no idea."

"He and Teddy are having man food," she answers.

"Man food?"

"Macaroni and cheese," she replies. "I still cannot believe that nursery food is one of his favorites."

"It always has been," I explain. "When he was first in the hospital after he was discovered with his mother, we wanted to fatten him up. He was just so skinny. He was pretty suspicious of a lot of the food we offered him. But he took to Mac and cheese right away."

We sit and eat in silence. I have had a long day and hardly ate anything for lunch. While I wouldn't describe her appetite as hearty, I could see the improvement. There was a little more color in her cheeks and her movements were less lethargic. Her eyes even seemed a bit brighter. I had a feeling that if the admitting physician saw her now, he would seriously consider letting her return home in the morning. Yet Ana never mentioned it.

When we were done, she cleaned up our things and brought them out to Shonda for disposal.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," says Shonda. "I would have come if you called. You getting so independent here that maybe you won't need old Shonda anymore."

Ana freezes.

"Don't even think of that," she whispers anxiously. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Shonda looks at me in surprise.

"Ana honey," she says gently. "I was just teasing. I'm not going nowhere until you're ready. I'm here for as long as you need me."

"I need you, please," she replies fervently. "You make me feel safe. It's like no one can hurt me when you're near."

"I do my best, sweetie," she says. "But don't you ever get the idea that I'm perfect."

"I didn't say that you're perfect," she answers back. "It's just that Sawyer makes me feel safe because I know that he won't let anyone physically hurt me. But you, well, you give me peace of mind."

"Well, that's my job," says Shonda gruffly. "That's why your fool husband pays all that money."

"No," Ana insists. "I know that it's not just about the money. You really care!"

Shonda is definitely embarrassed now. I lead Ana back to her room so that she can regain her equilibrium. I know that Shonda is used to taking a lot of grief from most of her patients. The fact is that Ana is pretty cooperative. I am not sure of what to say, but then Ana changes the subject.

"Charlotte thinks that I need to start seeing more family members again," she comments. "She said that it would be good for me to see either Kate and Elliot or Mia and Ethan. But I don't know."

"What are you unsure about?" I ask, even though I can figure out what the problem is.

"Well, I'm thinking about seeing Mia," she says. "But I don't want to hurt Kate's feelings."

"Are you really sure that you want to see Mia?" I ask. "She's pretty much obsessed by the wedding plans."

"Oh, I know that," she replies grimacing. "But lets face it, she's going to be obsessed by the wedding for the next year. It's just harder with Kate, because she's obsessed with Ava."

"You know that she really misses you and wants to see you, don't you?" I ask. "And if she knew that you didn't want to talk about Ava, I'm sure that she wouldn't. She wouldn't scold you either."

Ana is silent.

"Yes, I know," she finally says. "She has sent me some notes. But it's still so hard to see her and know how happy she is. I remember how happy I was with Teddy. Being around her makes me feel less normal. But it's not just her. It's hard for me to look at any happy new mother. I guess that's why I want to try the therapy group. Maybe it will help me feel like I'm not so abnormal."

"She understands that," I reply. "I think that if you write _her _a note then she will take it better. After all, your reason for avoiding her is not anything that she can control and she knows that you wouldn't want her to feel like you."

"Of course I wouldn't," she shivers. "So I guess that I will let Mia come and talk my ear off. But if Ethan is with her, maybe it won't be so bad. He's a very calm person, you know, a safe person, a good friend. And he is pretty good at tempering her enthusiasm."

"If he wasn't, I don't know how he could stand living with her," I reply. "But I think that from the beginning, once he understood where she was coming from, he developed an appreciation for it."

"Has Mia always been like this?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," I reply. "She has always been bright and cheerful and never took no for an answer. It's a personality trait of hers. I was a little surprised that she took to you so quickly. I always figured that when Christian eventually found someone to fall in love with that she would be jealous. However despite her faults, she is kind and generous. She wanted Christian to be happy. The fact that you were the source of that happiness automatically made her love you."

"I'm glad that she sees me that way," she answers shyly. "Lately, I've been doubting how good I really am for him. I hate to see him hurting when I know that I am the one who caused him all that pain."

"Well, then maybe Mia is the better choice," I say slowly. "Perhaps when you see her, it would be good to look at yourself through her eyes. Christian a never regretted one minute of your relationship, other than this where _he _hurt you and it separated you too."

But before the conversation can continue, Christian walks eagerly into the room.

"Come here and sit by me, Ana," he says quickly. "And bring your iPad."

She looks confused for a minute and then walks over to sit with him on the small couch. As she sits down, he puts his arm around her and kisses her cheek. Reflexively, she snuggles in beside him and hands him the iPad. After flipping the cover over, he begins to quickly tap. Ana watches curiously and suddenly a real live, genuine smile breaks open on her face.

"Sophie," says Christian. "Are you there?"

"Yes, sir," says a quiet voice.

Christian shifts the iPad onto Ana's lap and suddenly we hear a familiar little voice.

"Mommeeee!" squeals Teddy. "Ha! Ha! Daddy, I see Mommy!"

"Hi, Teddy," says Ana. "How are you doing big boy?"

Unable to contain my own curiosity, I get up and walk over to see for myself. I assume that Christian has set up a Skype conversation. This is unusual for him. He normally grumbles about security whenever anyone mentions it. However, this is another program.

"FaceTime?" I ask softly.

"Yes," Christian replies, making a kind of odd face.

"I miss you, Mommy. Home soon?" ha asks hopefully.

"Soon, baby," she says.

The little scowl takes over his face.

"No baby," he says. "Phoebe baby. Teddy little man. Where Auntie Shonda?"

"Auntie Shonda right here, little man," says Shonda as we all turn and look at her. "You behaving you self?"

"Yes, Auntie Shonda," he replies seriously. "Teddy good little man. Mommy home soon?"

"It's not up to me," she says. "Dr. Charlotte will decide."

"Okay, Mommy, see twains?" he asks.

As mercurial as only a two-year-old can be, Teddy has switched over to his favorite subject. As he leads the way to the trains, someone (probably the ever patient Sophie) is obviously following with the laptop. Ana's face looks soft, almost regretful. Christian noticed the slight alteration in mood also and gives her shoulders a squeeze. But Ana is looking longingly at the screen and hardly notices. Then she makes a sharp sound.

"Phoebe!" she whispers.

In the background we can see Gail holding Phoebe on her lap. The baby looks as if she has just had a bath. Her bronze curls are still damp and she's wearing her jams. Teddy ignores her as he passes and she is quickly out if view of the webcam.

"I'll get them to shift the cam back in a minute," says Christian quietly. "Lets let Ted have his fun now."

Ana nods, and I can see that she is a little impatient as Teddy goes on to tell her about the trains and about their day. He rambles on about Uncle Joe and makes a face when he talks about Auntie Mary and how she was fussing over Phoebe. It appears that the train set has been moved from the living room to the playroom. The track configuration has been changed and this gives Teddy lots to expound on. Finally, his monologue is over.

"Sophie," says Christian.

"Yes, sir?" responds the girl from off-camera.

"Could you turn the camera so that we can see Gail and Phoebe?"

"Okay," she replies, and turns the laptop to bring Gail and Phoebe into full view.

We can still hear Teddy chattering in the background, unaware that he had lost his audience. Gail smiles into the camera and encourages Phoebe to look also. Unfortunately, children of her age don't really perceive images on the screen that well. Nonetheless, Phoebe looks content.

Ana asks Gail a couple of questions, but there really isn't much to say. Ana has been away from the house for only a little more than twenty-four hours. The video visit however is much more successful than the physical visit was the last time around. The children don't have the disruption of making the trek to the hospital. Ana can see them at home in their natural environment. And the goodbyes are not so wrenching.

"Bye-bye, Mommy!" says Teddy cheerfully. "Home soon!"

It is so much different than the tears and anguish of the last parting. When the screen goes dark, Ana leans back rests her head on Christian's shoulder. Once again, he kisses the top of her head.

"You can talk again tomorrow," he says.

"I know," she replies. "Until I saw them, it felt like I had been away for so long. But nothing at home has changed. Neither looks any older. And it's really only been one day."

"I think that your time perception is skewed by the fact that you have made some good progress in the last twenty-four hours," I explain. "At this time last night, you were still pretty much unconscious. By the way, how does your throat feel?"

"Not as bad as it did," she says. "In fact, it felt a lot better when I woke up from my afternoon nap."

"I'm glad," says Christian. "Have you thought any more about the group therapy?"

"I have," she replies. "And I would like to try it."

"Good," he says. "I think that it could be very beneficial for you."

"You do?" she asks. "But what about the security?"

"It won't be a problem," he answers. "Welch and Taylor have coordinated with the hospital security. _They _had concerns of their own for the privacy the other patients. You know, about having such a potentially high-profile patient in a group where everyone treasures their anonymity.

"There shouldn't be any problems, especially since you will be starting as an inpatient. Getting you in and out when you are an outpatient will be a little trickier, but it's nothing that we can't handle. Put your mind to rest about that. If this is what you need, then we will make it happen."

"That's good," she says. "Then I do want to try it. Charlotte said that I could start tomorrow morning."

"Fine," he replies. "What else will you do tomorrow?"

"After lunch I will talk to Charlotte," she replies. "Then I'm going to have a nap. Then maybe, Mia and Ethan will come over to visit."

"You want to see Mia?" he asks in surprise. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn't I want to see Mia?" she asks worriedly.

I give him a sharp look, but he just winks back mischievously.

"Well," he says. "You better be ready for a nonstop monologue about the wedding plans."

"I'm actually counting on that," she admits.

"Why is that, dear?" I ask.

"Well," she says. "I've thought about it. And you know sometimes people feel uncomfortable around me and other patients because they don't know what to say. Then there are these awkward silences. But, well, with Mia you can be pretty sure that there won't be any."

"Yes," Christian says laughing. "With Mia you can count on the fact that there will be no silences at all, awkward or otherwise. What about Kate?"

"I'm not ready for Kate," she says. "But Grace said that I should write a note to her, you know, explaining it. It's not so much about Kate as it is about me."

"That sounds good," he agrees. "If Mia and Ethan come around dinnertime, then I could go home and have dinner with the kids again. I really enjoyed myself tonight."

"Man food?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "That. No, I was thinking about how I got to feed Phoebe her bottle. It was nice because Gail took Teddy away to give him his bath, so I had a little time with her to myself. I honestly don't see how you juggled the time between the two of them. I never realized how much time that Teddy demands for himself."

"That's perfectly normal for his age," I jump into the conversation. "He's waiting for Phoebe to catch up a little bit so that he can have a playmate with whom he can really interact. You really should reconsider pre-school in the fall for him. He needs to be around kids his own age."

This is one of those few areas where Christian and I have disagreed. He feels that Teddy is bright enough that he doesn't need pre-school, but I feel that it is not a matter of intelligence. The social interaction with his peers would be very good for him. So far, Ana has not taken a position on the idea. Even now, I can see that she doesn't want to discuss it.

"That sounds good," she interrupts, to change the subject. "As long as you come here to spend the night with me."

"Of course I'll be here with you," he says soothingly.

He is looking into her eyes with a longing that I recognize. I decide to leave and give them some privacy. When I get out into the other room, Shonda looks up.

"Mr. Grey and Ana ready for me to set up that bed?" she asks, indicating to the "cot" that is standing in the room ready to be wheeled in.

"I think so," I say. "She really is looking better."

"Yes, she is," answers Shonda. "I just hope that this group therapy works out fir her."

"Why wouldn't it?" I ask, looking for her take on it.

"Well, if some of those other ladies know that poor Ana is so rich and educated, it might put them on the defensive," she explains. "You know that the other side of Ana's feelings that because she's rich, she shouldn't have any troubles, is those folks who don't think that she should either, for the same reason. There's prejudice on all sides."

"But Ana hasn't always been rich," I object. "And neither of her parents are college educated."

"Well, I'm just saying," she says. "But don't worry. I'm going to take good care of her no matter what. And I'll warn her not to go talking about private doctors and private nurses and private suites with food brought in from one of the fanciest hotels in town. If some of them hear that, they're going to want to know what the hell she's doing with them."

"I guess that I can see how that would work," I reluctantly agree. "She's lucky that she has you to coach her."

"Humph!" she says. "She's lucky that she's got me at all. But now that she does, she stuck with me. You know how sometimes you get a patient that just kind of twists the old heartstrings? Well that's how I feel about Ana. I'm going to stick by her until she don't need me no more."

"I'm glad to hear that, Shonda," I answer warmly. "I don't know what we would do without you."

"I don't know neither," she says gruffly once again.

But underneath all of her bluster and streetsmart mouth, I can see a very sensitive woman who truly has taken Ana into her heart. As I get into my car, I am looking forward to arriving home where I can tell Carrick about Ana's progress and Mia about her dinner date for tomorrow night. I know that she will be very excited not only to see Ana, but also to have a new audience for her latest schemes.

I can just picture poor Ethan suffering through it all. If I didn't know how much Ana wanted to see him, I might have suggested that Mia go alone. But I know that Ana enjoys Ethan's quiet thoughtful presence, his interest in her care, and his fondness for her. And underneath the grimacing and teeth gritting whenever Mia goes on about the wedding, I know that he is also very deeply in love with her.

I wonder if Ana realizes that if she had not met Christian, that not only him, but all three of my children would have met their partners for life. Elliot met Kate when he and Christian went to rescue Ana from a bar that night in Portland. Mia met Ethan when Ana had to find a quick replacement for a luncheon date when she had a snap meeting called. With all of her moaning about ruining other people's lives, I guess that it has never occurred to her that without her, there are five other people's lives that would not have been so wonderful.

Yes, tomorrow I will definitely have to tell her that.


	38. Dawn

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 32: Dawn**

For once, I wake up and feel a new clarity in my thinking. There is even a bit of pink dawn left in the sky. I look at the clock on the nightstand and notice that it is seven am. Over on my left, I can see Christian is still sound asleep in the roll away bed that Shonda brought in last night for him.

If he was going to spend another night with me, I didn't want him to spend it in the chair again. And Shonda, who had spoken to Nurse Nora, told me that there was no way in hell that Christian was going to sleep in my bed with me. Well, we had no choice, but to follow her rules. The door to my room does not lock so that I could not lock Shonda out. She had to have immediate access in case I wanted to hurt myself again. And she promised that she would be regularly checking.

After Grace left last night, we sat together on the couch for quite a while. Shonda came in and out to set up the bed, but thankfully didn't linger. After my visit with Teddy, I switched back to the photo album on the iPad filled with the Christmas pictures and flipped through them slowly. There were so many beautiful pictures of the children.

"I'm so glad that they have your hair," I said thoughtfully, as I looked at them.

"Well, I'm glad that they inherited your beautiful blue eyes," he answered. "Not to mention your flawless, pale skin. We are going to have to be very careful with them out in the sun. We won't want any serious burns."

"No we won't," I agreed, wincing as I remember a few of the more painful burns when I was younger. My mother, of course, would slather me up good when we would first do out, but then forget to reapply later.

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, looking at a picture of Teddy and Phoebe together under the tree. And then Christian spoke tenderly.

"Have I told you recently how much I love you?"

"I believe that you tell me every day," I answered lightly.

He reached over, turned my chin so that I was facing him, and looked deeply into my eyes.

"And do you believe me when I say it?" he asked wistfully.

The pain is evident in his voice. For weeks, no months, I have withdrawn from him, feeling unworthy of his love. Yet his relentless patience and devotion have never ceased. I know that. And I know that most women would kill for what I have, not the money or social position, but the faithful, enduring, and deep, abiding love that he gives me.

As the months have passed, it feels as if the distance between us has only widened farther, as I have retreated into my empty shell of despair. I know that he has been struggling all of this time to break through. I wanted right then, so desperately to reach back out to him, but I felt like I didn't p know how anymore. It was like the early days of our relationship, when I didn't know how I could possibly break through the barriers that _he _had thrown up. Compared with that, this seemed so much more difficult. This time, the barriers were mine.

As I pondered, he never shifted his gaze from my face. It was not a piercing, penetrative gaze, but a searching, yearning gaze, as if he were looking for some little crack in my reserve that would finally permit him to look into my soul. I dropped my eyes, fearful of what he might see. I was deeply frightened that he might witness the darkness of my soul and the fracture of my heart. But most of all, I didn't want him to discover my hopelessness that I might never find my way back to him.

"I love you with all my heart," he prompted me. "I love you more than life itself. Do you still love me?"

"Oh, my God, Christian," I said without even thinking. "It still frightens me to think of how much I love you. I feel guilty about the fact that sometimes I love you more than I love our children. After all that I have put you through, how . . . "

He didn't let me finish my protest. Instead, he closed his mouth over mine and tenderly kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, a sweet kiss, a lover's kiss. It was like a first kiss, filled with desire and yearning, yet tinged with hesitancy and insecurity. I realized at that moment that he was fearful of rejection. Tentatively, I opened my mouth, allowing him access.

He responded to my invitation with a trepidation that I could feel in the way his mouth trembled. As he searched my mouth with his tongue, I sensed a gentleness that was nearly the opposite of the passion with which he delivered our real first kiss more than three and a half years ago. _That _kiss was a hot, take no prisoners kiss, filled with a ferocity that claimed me. The electricity between us in that elevator had been beyond magnetic. Our bodies hurled themselves against one another violently as he pinned me against the wall.

But with this kiss, the unmistakable longing was transmitted through his right hand, which gently stroked my hair and his left, which held my neck steady. And when he was through, he cradled me in his arms, now deeply breathing, not panting, into my hair. I reached my arms around his back and nestled my head against his shoulder, unconsciously sighing.

"I've missed you," I said quietly.

It was then that I felt the tremble in his chest, as the strangled sob escaped. He tightened his grip on me and I didn't need to look up to know that he was crying.

"I can't lose you," he choked out at last to me. "You must come back to me. My life is nothing without you."

The depth of sorrow in those words and the sheer honesty of their tone finally cut through the layers of my depression, lethargy, and overwhelming exhaustion. I now felt his loss, the empty space in his heart that only I could fill. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I truly heard his words. And I knew that I had not ruined his life beyond repair. I recognized that if I disappeared, rather than freeing him, I would be chaining him to a dark existence as painful as my own.

My strong, beautiful husband, the master of my heart and of the mighty empire that he had acquired through blood and sweat, had only one flaw in his strength and formidable power. It was I, who could make or break him. I remember dimly, those minutes when I thought that I had broken him. When he knelt before me in the position of submissive and how bitter taste of his human weakness had filled my mouth. I had never wanted that kind if power over him.

And yet now, I understood how unwittingly I had acquired it. My own fragile psyche was dragging his into the abyss of my own self-doubt and self-loathing. I remember how determined I was back in those days to drag him up into the light with me. I had fought with _his _self-loathing and self-destructive instincts.

Now I realized that my former battle had become his. He had every bit as much tenacity as I had. In the end, he had surrendered to me, as now I must surrender to him. I sat up straight and take his face in my hands, even as his eyes were flowing with tears.

"Help me," I said simply. "Christian, please help me."

And with that, we were holding each other and crying together. His tears were those of relief. Mine were those of fear. What if I couldn't do this? I knew then and know now, this morning that I still have a long and treacherous journey. Was I strong enough, even with his love and the love of my family, to face up to the long-buried demons that now threatened to invade my peace of mind.

It was as if they had been buried, but in a rather shallow grave that permitted them to escape. It was as if they had been waiting in the shadows of the sunshine that has so recently defined my life for that moment of weakness when they could assail the walls that I had built up to keep them out. I had retreated from them hiding behind the fog of depression, as if that could stand against them. And then, when my defenses were at their lowest ebb, they swept in and nearly dragged me under.

Their terrible force had finally successfully breached my shaky walls and overwhelmed me. With an awful power, they deceived me with the reflective light of the moon, the deception that the silver path that had called me from my bedroom room that cold night weeks ago, would set me free. Instead, it nearly claimed me into an eternal prison of darkness and despair. And by allowing myself to be dragged there, I would have taken all those that I loved with me.

But this was the moment of the beginning of my redemption. I must rise above my failure and beg the forgiveness of those whom I have hurt so much. And no one more deserved my apology for this unintentionally inflicted pain, than the beloved man whose naked sorrow was now so evident in his eyes. He still hadn't answered me. What should I think now? Had I finally pushed him too far?

"Ana," he said at last. "I have been waiting months to hear those words. Whatever you need, I will give to you. There is no price too great to pay for you to be happy again."

"Thank you," I whispered, and looked at him with longing once again.

He gave me a little smile and then slowly and carefully leaned toward me again. I met him halfway and joined my lips to his, opening my mouth as I did. For several minutes we were lost in each other again. So lost, that we didn't hear the door open.

"Ah-hem," said a familiar voice.

We broke apart and looked up to see Shonda standing there, hands on her hips and smirk on her face.

"Well I hate to break you two up," she said. "But Ana if you are going to that meeting tomorrow, you're going to need a good night's rest."

"Okay," I said guiltily.

"Well, my oh my, but don't you two look like a pair of hormonal teenagers who just got caught making out by her Daddy," she commented. "Now Mr. Christian, I'm sure that you have some old business deal to make tomorrow, so I suggest that you get ready for bed too."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied agreeably.

After she left, we both got up. Since I already had my things out, I went in first to change, brush my teeth, and wash my face while Christian opened his overnight bag. By the time that I was done, he was ready for his turn. When he came out, he settled on my bed next to me.

"That's against the rules, you know," I remarked.

"It's only against the rules if I sleep here," he answered playfully. "I'm just visiting."

Then he put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder.

"What were you thinking?" he suddenly asked. "While we were sitting there just now looking at each other, your mind seemed to be turning things over."

"That's what I was doing," I replied.

"What were you turning over?"

It was hard for me to answer. I didn't know why, but it was hard to put into words exactly what I had been thinking. But I tried anyway.

"It's hard for me to say really," I said. "You know. There were a lot of thoughts running through my head. I was thinking about how that felt kind of like a first kiss, only you were a lot more gentle this time around."

"It felt like a first kiss to me too," he replied. "It felt like a first kiss after a very long dry spell. Would you have preferred more passion?"

"No," I admitted. "Right now I like your sweet, gentle kisses. I'm afraid that there's not too much passion in me at the moment."

"Well," he said. "I understand that. Let's just say that I think that you are finally reawakening to the more physical aspect of our love. Maybe that's why it felt like a first kiss. I was thinking about how this was the way that the prince must have felt when he kissed the sleeping beauty awake."

"That's very romantic for a megalomaniac billionaire," I comment.

"I was hoping that you would say that," he answered. "I'm kind of aiming for romance right now."

He bent down to kiss me but then broke it off several moments later.

"It's dangerous to kiss you here on the bed," he said. "I might get carried away. We wouldn't want our nurse to catch us in a compromising position."

He hops off the bed and then sits back down on the edge. He picks up my left hand and kisses it. Then he traces the outline of my rings.

"You know these rings say that you're mine," he commented.

Then I smiled and sank back into the pillows. He obediently went over to his own bed.

"Goodnight, love," he said as I turned off the light.

Suddenly, I hear a loud pounding on the door.

"Is you two decent?" calls Shonda.

Startled, Christian leapesout of bed and demands, "Where's the fire?"

"Ain't no fire," says Shonda, as she walked through the door. "Just breakfast. Mr. Sawyer just came back from the Fairmont. Smells mighty good."

I can smell the pancakes and bacon. For the first time, in what feels like a long time, the food actually smells appetizing. Then I remember that this morning, I am going to meet the patients in the therapy group. That catches me up quick and the slight hunger I feel n my stomach is replaced with butterflies.

"Come on, Ana," Shonda coaxes me. "Eat up so you have the strength to face that group later."

"What about me?" asks Christian. "Don't I need my strength to face the world of mergers and acquisitions?"

"I ain't never noticed that you needed any encouragement to eat Mr. Christian," she answers smartly. "But maybe if you get that butt of yours our of bed, Ana here will get up too."

"And maybe if you get lost," he grumbles. "We both will."

With a huff, she turns on heel and leaves the room mumbling about "them ungrateful rich folks." Christian turns back to me.

"Shall we?" he asks, as he holds out his hand.

As he gets up, I realize that he is only wearing his pajama pants so that they hang that way off his hips. I notice that his chest is still looking pretty buff.

"Admiring the view?" he asks teasingly.

"Well, you certainly are in very good shape," I comment, as I get out of bed.

"I've been spending some extra time with Claude recently," he replies.

Suddenly I feel the tears pricking behind my eyes. Extra workouts for Christian have always meant that he is working through his sexual frustration. And that's my fault. He immediately notices and gently grasps my forearms and looks at me kindly.

"Don't, Ana," he says. "Last night was beautiful. Please don't spoil it with regrets for what is passed. It can't be changed. I'm looking forward and you need to also. Let's keep walking towards the light together."

The sweetness ripples through his voice like waves towards a very dry beach.

"Remember how we've chased the dawn so many times," he continues. "I'm looking forward to the time when we do it again. I'm looking forward to all the good things that we are going to share again."

His words soothe me. This is a whole other side of Christian that I haven't seen before. He leans forward and softly kisses my lips and I let him lead me to the table. He opens the lid of the box and serves us both. I notice that he is careful not to load my plate with too much; another indication that he doesn't want to put any pressure on me. As we eat, he tries to distract me by telling me about his day. But seeing that I am still caught up in my thoughts, he changes the subject abruptly.

"I spoke to Chris yesterday," he says. "He and Melissa really want to come and visit. The girls have a three-day weekend coming up and they would like to fly up. They said that they don't have to stay with us if you're not up to it. They would be happy to stay at a hotel. I thought that it would be nice for Teddy to have someone his own age to play with. I'm pretty sure that CJ will love the 'twains.'

"It will give Sophie a break too. She can hang out with the girls. The last time they were together they had a lot of fun. And you've always liked Melissa."

"I'll think about it," I reply. "I would like to see how things go during the next few days. You know, after I go home."

"Ana," he says. You know that you can stay in the hospital for as long as you like. They aren't going to kick you out or anything. It's not that I don't want you home. It's just that you seem to be making some progress for the first time since you've come back."

"I guess," I say uncertainly. "But I really do miss the children and my own bed. I'm not sure that I can't make the same progress at home."

"The choice is entirely up to you," he says. "Whatever you want to do, you have my full support."

He is looking at me so sincerely that I know he is telling the truth. But suddenly he jumps up.

"I need to grab a shower and get dressed," he says quickly. "Taylor will be here soon to pick me up."

It has always amazed me how quickly he can shower, dress, and still come out looking like a male model. On his way out the door, he gives me another quick kiss. It almost feels like he is leaving home for the office, almost, but not quite. I look after him with just a little bit less regret than yesterday. But he does look more relaxed. Shortly after he departs, Shonda walks in with a bag from Walmart.

"Here you go, Ana," she says as she drops it on the bed. "These are some real clothes to wear. Mr. Taylor just dropped them off."

After she sashays out, I look in the bag curiously. It contains a couple of pairs of comfortable sweats, a couple of tee shirts, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. I don't recognize any of the labels, but I figure that that is probably good or maybe bad. Back in the day, I bought my clothing almost exclusively off the Walmart clearance racks. I frown when I look at the size. They are undoubtedly going to be too big, but that's okay. I have lost weight, which is probably normal for someone like me. Taking a deep breath, I head for the shower.

When I return to the room, I find Grace waiting for me.

"My hair is ridiculous," I comment. "It's grown out and has no style."

"Just pony tail it," she advises. "It's better if you don't look too groomed. Actually, you look pretty much the way that you did when I met you. I always admired your ability to carry off that very natural style you have so well. Right now you look pale and tired. And your eyes look sad, but Shonda told me that you had a good night after I left."

"I, I mean we, did," I say shyly. "I think that we are finally finding our way back to each other."

"That's wonderful," she says smiling. "I know that it's progress for you, but I also know how hard it's been on Christian. As a mother, I'm glad to see things improving for him."

"I don't really deserve him," I reply. "I've always felt that he could have done much better."

"Well, he doesn't agree," she answers firmly. "This kind of illness can make or break a marriage. And he's determined to make it. All he wants is for you to get better so that you will be happy again. Besides, did it ever occur to you that if you two had never met, Elliot wouldn't have met Kate and Mia wouldn't have met Ethan. Look at how happy that you've made them."

"I know," I say. "And I don't know why I don't feel happy. I mean, there's nothing happening in my life right now to make me feel unhappy."

"And that's the truest indication that this is the kind of depression that can be felt with by psycho-therapy and drug therapy," she states. "If you really had things to be sad about or even thought that you did, the it would be difficult to uncover the source."

"I guess," I say. "But I'm really scared about going to this meeting."

"Would you like to meet Dr. Riley ahead of time?" she asks. "I know that she would be happy to meet you."

"Okay," I say, feeling even more nervous than before.

Grace goes out to talk to Shonda and then comes back and pats my hand.

"She will be here in about ten minutes."

I sit nervously waiting. I know that the doctor shouldn't make me nervous, but still. I am pretty sure that not only had Charlotte spoken to her, but Grace and Shonda as well. I wonder if Flynn had weighed in as well. Finally the minutes tick by. Grace and I stand as the door opens.

"Carolyn Riley," she says smoothly. "This is my daughter-in-law, Anastasia Grey. Ana this is Dr. Riley."

We shake hands. Dr. Riley seems to notice that I am nervous because she speaks first.

"Do you prefer Anastasia or Ana, Mrs. Grey?" she asks.

"Ana, please," I reply.

"Well, Ana," she says. "That is how I will introduce you. We don't use last names in group. Most of us have a hard time with first names. How are you feeling about coming?"

"Nervous," I admit. "I'm afraid that they won't like me."

"Do you often feel that way when you meet new people?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply honestly. "I guess that you could say that I am kind of shy. But I still want to come."

"Of course you do," she agrees. "And in the beginning, no one is going to expect that you will say too much. You should listen attentively and respectfully. And remember that everyone there is uncomfortable to one degree or another. But they are also there for the same support that you are. No one really _wants _to be there, but they are all hoping to learn from each other's experiences."

I swallow hard.

"Are you expected to, you know, bare your soul so to speak?" I ask.

"Only as much as you want," she replies. "And only when you are ready."

"Okay," I take a deep breath. "I think that I can do this."

"Good," she says. "And we'll all be there to help you. Grace, can you do me a favor and walk Ana down?"

"Sure," she replies looking puzzled.

Dr. Riley answers her unspoken question.

"If Shonda walks her down then some of the other patients will recognize her," she explains. "Then they will want to know why she isn't in the psych ward anymore. Some of them really do miss her. It would be very awkward for Ana if they found out that they lost her favorite nurse because she was now a private nurse to another patient."

"Did you tell them about me?" I ask, feeling a new anxiety.

"No, I haven't," she answers. "They will meet you when you come in. That's how it works, no prior explanations. But you will have to introduce yourself. They will want to know about you and your husband and children. Think about what you say about that and your job."

"Well right now I'm not working because I am staying home with the kids and I've been sick," I say. "And I guess I could say that my husband owns his own business."

"That sounds good," she replies. "None of them will be interested in exactly what his business is. It's a good thing that you don't look anything like the pictures that they may have seen in the society pages. It could set some of them off. Everyone is very sensitive to what they perceive is judgment by others. They are just as fragile as you are, even if they don't all show it."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Honestly?" she says. "Yes, you do. However, you look perfectly normal for a person who is undergoing treatment for depression. Try to remember that. You are a psychiatric patient who is trying to get well first and foremost. The rest of it is not important. But you may end up talking about your past."

"Better than my present," I say. "I certainly did not grow up with any kind of money. There were times when we were living hand to mouth."

"Okay," she replies. "You probably won't need to go into that kind of detail either. But you're a smart lady. You'll figure it out."

With those words she turns and calls over her shoulder, "See you downstairs."

"Do you feel better?" asks Grace.

"A little," I say. "But I'm still nervous."

"Try not to think about it," she says. "Lets go downstairs."

As we leave the room, I see Sawyer in his position by the door. When we step into the elevator, he is with us, but he is acting like he doesn't know us. I know that he will be shadowing me and staying close by. It makes me feel better to know that he is with me. Leaving the room feels like an awfully big step. I'm longing for its shelter and Shonda's comforting presence. But I also feel a bit guilty because there are other patients who miss her. It doesn't seem fair that I have all of her attention. Grace is watching me closely.

"Don't think about Shonda," she says, having read my mind. "It was her choice to take care of you and her choice to stay."

I give her a slight nod and notice that Sawyer is looking at me. He inclines his head slightly to show me his support. Then the door opens to the first floor and Grace leads me down a hallway to the outpatient area. We pass by offices and a couple of conference type rooms. At last we reach the one at the end of the hallway and she opens the door.


	39. Group

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 33: Group**

As I walk into the room, I am aware of about a dozen other pairs of eyes on me. I am suddenly reminded of one of my first days of class back in college. One year, I had to switch into one section of a seminar to another so that I could work out my class schedule to accommodate work my work schedule. Everyone had already been in class together for a week and I was the outsider. Luckily, the professor took pity on me and gave me time to become acclimated. Now I take a deep breath and swallow hard, as I take the only empty seat.

The room is well-lit, but rather shabby looking. It is in one of the older parts of the hospital. There are inspirational posters up everywhere that you look. The folding chairs are set up in a circle and now I have sat down, they are all full. Dr. Riley gives me an encouraging smile, but I can barely manage to look back. Despite the fact that I prefer group discussions to individual, this feels very intimidating.

Not wanting to be caught staring at anyone, I look at my hands in my lap and the strands of hair that have slipped out if my ponytail and now cover my face. I notice my large diamond engagement ring and instinctively cover it with my right hand. It is the only thing that might give away how wealthy I am.

"Everyone," says Dr. Riley. "I would like to introduce you to the newest member of our group. This is Ana."

"Hi, Ana," the voices say politely back, making me wonder if I haven't stumbled into an AA meeting by mistake.

I peek up at them and say faintly, "Hi."

Dr. Riley leans back in her chair and tries to catch my eye, "Ana, why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?"

I take a minute to silently run through her earlier suggestions in my mind, and I wish that I had thought to prepare something.

"I'm Ana," I say quietly. "I have two children at home, Teddy and Phoebe. Teddy is two and a half and hell on wheels. Phoebe is four months and a little angel. My husband Chris owns his own business. I'm not working right now."

"Ana," says Dr. Riley kindly. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?"

I swallow hard again, hoping that this is the last thing that I have to say.

"I'm in the hospital for, um . . ." I say. "I . . . I tried to swallow a whole bottle of Tylenol. They had to pump my stomach."

"Seventy-two hour hold?" asks a large, red-haired woman in a grey sweat suit.

"Yes," I reply, bowing my head.

There is a murmur of sympathy around the room.

"First time in?" asks a rather pretty, blonde-haired girl, who is dressed like me, in jeans and a tee-shirt.

"Second," I say, taking a deep breath, fearful that they will ask for details.

There is another round of whispers. I'm starting to feel scared. This is so much harder than I thought that it would be. Then I begin to feel panicky and my breaths come faster.

"It's okay, sweetie," says the woman sitting next to me. "We've all been there. The first day is always the hardest."

She bends her head around so that she can look me in the eyes. Her own soft brown eyes are comforting. I take a deep breath to steady myself. She rubs my back, but her kindness has the opposite effect than she intended. I am about to become emotional. Then, Dr. Riley takes pity on me.

"You don't have to say any more, Ana," she says. "Why don't we all introduce ourselves, girls?"

The women go around the circle stating their names and long they've been in group. As Dr. Riley predicted, I can't remember any of them except the woman sitting next to me named Kim. She looks like she is my age and is dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and black yoga pants. Once the introductions are over, the conversation begins to flow around me. I take the chance to look at the women surrounding me.

There are fourteen of them, not counting Dr. Riley, whom I quickly discover is called Carolyn by the women. Everyone is dressed comfortably, with no makeup or jewelry, other than wedding rings. They all share the same tired look, although a few look more alert than the rest of us. As they each speak, the blur of faces begin to differentiate into individuals.

Initially, I get the impression that they are all free to discuss whatever they want, but then I notice that there is a pattern to the sharing. They all talk about what happened since their last meeting. As I listen, I realize that some are back at home, while others are still in the hospital in the psych ward. A couple of them look at me curiously, no doubt wondering why I am not with them there.

They all have small children at home, everyone with at least one under the age of eighteen months. The woman with the red hair, Jill, has four. As I listen to them talk, I realize how lucky I am. Several of the women are living with their parents because their husbands ran out on them. Those in the hospital talk about the limits on visitors and how much they miss their kids.

Jill seems to be the leader of sorts. She has been in the group the longest, six months. For my benefit, she recounts how her husband finally brought her to the hospital when he came home one night from work and her three-month old twins were wailing in their cribs while her six-year old was trying to cook dinner. The four-year old was floating boats in the toilet.

She was lying in her bed, unmoving and staring at the ceiling. After a week in the psych ward, she went back home where her mother-in-law had taken charge. They had never gotten along, but there was no choice. Her own parents lived in Montana.

She is on Zoloft and Xanax. They are working well for her. The conversation then turns to medications, dosages, and combinations thereof. I am amazed at how knowledgeable they all are about the various options of anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications.

Kim asks me what I am on. When I mention Wellbutrin, several of them nod. Sharing that information makes me feel as though I have passed through one of the rights of passage. I feel myself relaxing, until the pretty blonde, named Shari, mentions ECT.

"What is that?" I ask innocently.

"Electroconvulsive therapy," she replies. "We also call it shocks."

I find myself feeling cold and become very still. The other women look at me sympathetically.

"It's very shocking, no pun intended, when you first hear about it," explains Shari. "Everyone has visions of Jack Nicholson in _One Flaw Over the Cookoo's Nest. _But it's not like that anymore. They give you an anesthetic and then give you very gentle shocks. You don't even know that it's happened until its over."

Even though she is speaking in a matter of fact tone, I am still terrified. What if they want to do that to me? Carolyn reads my reaction and intervenes.

"ECT is a measure of last resort," she explains. "If the doctors can't find the right drug or combination of drugs, it can be a life saver. It is used only for the severely depressed or bipolar patients. It doesn't eliminate the need for meds, but it can make them work more effectively."

I feel like I am going to be sick.

"Don't be scared, Ana," says Kim gently. "I had to have ECT six months ago. I was at the end of my rope, in and out of the psych ward three times. I wanted to get home to my baby, but I could barely take care of myself, let alone him. It wasn't so bad, except for the memory loss."

"Memory loss?" I ask fearfully.

"Part of what ECT does," explains Carolyn. "Is disrupts the memory so that the sadness that is causing is alleviated. While people are undergoing it, they can have some short term memory loss, but after it stops that usually goes away."

"There's no reason to think that you might have to have the treatments," states Jill with a tone of authority in her voice. "If the Wellbutrin is being effective, then I doubt you will need it."

"And if Jill says so," comments a Hispanic girl named Bianca. "Then it must be so."

The others laugh and I am puzzled by their reaction. It sounded like Bianca was teasing her. But Jill takes it in stride.

"Sorry about that," she says. "I'm the oldest of eight in a big Irish family. I'm used to bossing people around. That's probably why I don't get along so well with my mother-in-law. We're both used to being the authority figure in the house."

"Well," retorts Bianca. "I'm the oldest of nine and you won't catch me trying to boss anyone around. My Papa would have slapped me down quick enough if I tried."

"Do you have any brothers and sisters, Ana?" asks Shari.

"No," I answer. "I'm an only child."

"I've often wondered what it would be like to be an only child," comments Jill. "Do you think that it's good or bad?"

"It's the only thing that I know," I reply. "But I think that if someone had given me a choice, I would have wanted a brother or sister."

I drop out of the conversation as the others debate the merits of large families or small. We are all young enough to have more children. Some of them seem fearful of the idea, while others, like Jill, seem unbothered. They appear to be convinced that just because they were sick this time, didn't mean that they would get sick again. Suddenly, Carolyn announces that group is over. I look over at the clock and realize that two hours have passed. Before the group breaks up, she addresses me.

"So, Ana, what did you think of group?" she asks.

"I think that you're all . . . great," I say shyly.

"That's because you don't know us," comments Shari wryly.

"But I would like to," I say, taking a deep breath. "I think that I can do this."

"We'll all help," says Kim. "That's why we're here."

As we stand up, a group of women separate out to go back up to the psych ward. A cheerful male nurse, named Bob, comes to lead them up. The others all pick up their coats and bags to go out to their cars. Once we are alone together, Carolyn indicates to one of the seats and we both sit down again.

"How did you really find that?" she asks.

"Overwhelming," I answer honestly. "I mean, I really do think that they're all great, but it's a little intimidating. It seems like they all have everything under control."

"Looks can be very deceiving," she says seriously. "If any of them had things under control, they wouldn't be here. I know that Charlotte explained to you that they are all in various stages of treatment. The ones who are the most expressive, are the ones who are farthest along. Jill, for example, is scheduled to finish in a week."

"What about Kim?" I ask.

"You like Kim, don't you?" she says with a smile. "Kim will probably be with us for a few more weeks. She was very shy in the beginning. It's taken her longer to start to share. I think that she reached out to you because she recognized a kindred spirit. She's very sensitive that way."

"I was surprised at how open everyone is," I comment. "They all seem very comfortable with each other. They even were joking."

"That's because humor is often a good way for some people to deal with hurt," she replies. "Do you think that you want to come back?"

"Yes, I'd like that," I answer. "But I was wondering. What do the women think who are up in the psych ward? I mean, they know that I'm in the hospital. Are they wondering why I'm not with them?"

"I'm sure that they are, but none of them will ask," she responds. "Not all psychiatric patients are up on the seventh floor. If a patient has other health issues, there are other parts of the hospital where they will be placed. Besides, I believe that you are scheduled to go home tomorrow."

"Yes, I am," I say, hesitantly. "But I'm not sure . . ."

"What aren't you sure about?" she asks carefully.

"I don't know," I answer. "It's just that everything seems easier here. You know, there are not so many people here to deal with."

"Do you feel safer here?"

"Yes," I admit reluctantly. "I just don't know why."

"Well, this is something for you to discuss with Charlotte," she says. "Do you want me to walk back up to your room with you or call a nurse?"

"Do you mind?" I ask. "Walking me up?"

"No problem," she says.

As we walk out into the hallway, I notice Sawyer waiting a discreet distance away. Carolyn hardly looks at him. I figure that she must have been clued in about my close protection. I wonder if Sawyer ever sleeps. I figure that he must be off duty sometimes. Probably Ryan takes over to let him rest.

When we arrive back at the suite, Shonda looks up from her book.

"Ready for some lunch, Ana?" she asks immediately.

I nod and walk into my room where the now familiar box from the Fairmont was waiting on the table. I open it up and find a small pot of steaming New England clam chowder and a loaf of white bread. Shonda follows me and begins to set the table for me.

"You know I can do that for myself," I comment.

"I don't mind," she says. "I haven't had much to do today at all. How was group?"

"I'll tell you if you join me," I offer. "They always send much more than I can eat. I hate to see it go to waste."

"Oh, it never goes to waste," she answers with a smile. "Mr. Sawyer out there makes sure of that. But that sure does look good. I think that I _will _join you."

We sit down together and for a few minutes eat in silence. I have some questions that I want to ask her but I am not sure of how to begin,

"Shonda," I finally say. "What is it like up in the psych ward?"

She looks at me in surprise.

"What do you want to know about that for?"

"Well, it seems like everyone in group has been there but me," I explain. "I was just wondering what their experiences were like."

"Interesting," she comments. "Most folks don't want to know about it. But it's obviously different from the other wards. You know, the folks up there can wear their own clothes. In fact they encourage them not to wear nightclothes during the day. It's a struggle sometimes. They wear scrubs if they are admitted from the ER. Some of them don't want to change. They order their meals like everyone else, but they don't have to eat in bed. There's a TV up there for them and a couple of sitting areas. In fact, they try to keep the patients up and not sleeping too much."

"How do they spend their days?" I ask.

"A lot of them read," she says. "And they talk to each other and the nurses. They have some group discussions with the LCSWs that come in. They have private consultations with their own doctors. And each nurse up there is assigned a group of patients for their shift to look after."

"What's an LCSW?"

"That's a Licensed Clinical Social Worker," she explains. "There aren't enough doctors to see all the patients, so the social workers fill in for the therapy sessions. But they work hand in hand with the doctors and nurses to keep track of the patients. Now when the ladies that you were with are up there, they're all mixed in with everyone else. They come down every morning for group."

"Are there other patients like that?" I ask curiously.

"There are some subgroups like that," she says. "It's not uncommon for recovering alcoholics to be up there. And there is a group called the professionals, you know, teachers and lawyers and what have you. They all have their own different kinds of issues."

"Older people?"

"No, there's a geriatric psych ward on the fifth floor," she says. "Older people have their own kinds of issues. And there are enough of them to fill a whole ward. It's sad because a lot of them have no family to come and visit them."

"Some of the women were talking about visiting hours," I remark.

"Yes, there are visiting hours up there," she states. "Most folks sit in one of the sitting areas, but there's a special room for the families. It's not just the postpartum patients that have kids you know. In most areas of the hospital you can't have kids, but the psych ward is different. It would be too hard on most of them to be without their kids. And we want folks to get better, not worse."

"What do the other patients talk to each other about?" I ask.

"Mostly about their illnesses," she says. "They compare notes on symptoms and meds and different treatments. Sometimes they talk about why they're there, you know their lives and whatnot, but not much."

"Do any of the patients ever go, like crazy?"

"This ain't no movie," she says. "The patients up there are under control, mostly with the meds. Folks are in there to get better. That sure as hell won't happen if you've got someone causing a ruckus. Now I know that sometimes there may be a problem with someone, but we get them out real fast. It's hard to avoid taking your pills, but some folks do. That's when you get problems."

"Do you ever miss working up there?" I ask curiously.

"In the beginning I did," she answers honestly. "Those first few days when it was mostly you and me were pretty intense. And then I had your husband making me crazy. And I've never had to work around children. And I felt guilty for leaving my patients behind, but your husband offered me a lot of money. With my two girls in college, I wanted to make sure that they didn't have a pile of loans to pay off."

"So you did it for the money?"

"In the beginning, and the chance to work with Dr. Charlotte," she admits. "And I trusted Dr. Grace to make sure that everything was fine. But I stayed because I kind of got attached to you. But I will admit that I like to see you improving like this. I'm looking forward to the day when I can walk out of your house for good. But don't take that the wrong way, Ana honey. It's just I'm in the business of making people well. I may miss you more than most patients, but I do want to see you well again."

"Yes," I say thoughtfully.

When she sees that I don't have any more questions, Shonda gets up.

"Now, Ana, it's time for your nap," she says. "Dr. Charlotte will be here around three and then that crazy sister-in-law is coming with her poor fiancé to visit."

"How do you know that Mia is crazy?" I ask with a smile.

Shonda rolls her eyes.

"Dr. Grace was telling me about all those wedding plans that she has," she replies. "I could probably send one of my girls to school for four years on what she plans to spend. Or rather what your crazy husband plans to spend."

"Mia will be Mia," I sigh. "And Christian adores her. Despite the fact that she is spoiled and impulsive, she always means well."

"So I hear," she replies. "Anyway, I am looking forward to meeting her for myself. Wonder what she'll think of me?"

"I have no idea," I say. "But most of the time I have no idea of what Mia will think of anything."

Shonda rolls her eyes and hustles me into bed. I am feeling tired after my two hour group session and then lunch. As always, lunch was appetizing until I started eating. Then I filled up quickly. Shonda has learned not to say anything. There are a lot of things that she could make her smart remarks about, but my eating habits are not in the table. After she pulls the shades to darken the room, she picks up the lunch things and leaves me alone. Before I know it, I am out of it.

When I wake up, Charlotte is sitting beside the bed writing on her notepad. When she hears me stirring, she looks up and smiles pleasantly.

"Good afternoon, Ana," she says. "Did you have a good morning?"

Dully, I try to remember what I did this morning. Then group comes to mind.

"It was interesting," I reply noncommittally.

"Dr. Riley said that you wanted to return to the group tomorrow," she says.

"Yes, I do," I answer. "But I'm still not sure about it."

"Why don't you get up and wash your face and we can talk about it," she suggests.

When I return from the bathroom I am feeling a little more alert. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of the drug is that it makes me feel groggy when I wake up after any kind of sleep. This morning was an exception. I walk over and take a seat on the couch. Charlotte gestures towards the small coffee table.

"I asked Shonda to prepare some tea for you," she says. "It will help clear your head."

I look at the small tray and absentmindedly pour the hot water from the the small silver pot into the cup. Then I plunk the tea bag in and out. I gaze at the rising steam as I think about what I want to talk about first.

"Would you like to talk about group?" she asks.

"Sure," I say. "It wasn't what I was expecting. Of course, I don't know what I was expecting. I mean, everyone there looked like me, you know, normal moms. And we all seemed to have the same problems, except some of theirs were worse than mine."

"What do you mean by worse?"

"Well," I try to explain. "It was kind of hard to listen to them talk about all the challenges of dealing with their illnesses. You know some of them have issues with childcare. Some of them have marriages that are falling apart. And then there are the ones with family problems, you know parents. I feel kind of guilty being there."

"Because you have more money than they do?"

"Not, really, although I guess that's part of it," I admit. "No, it's just that I have this wonderful husband and family to stand by me. And I have great people to take care of my kids. I feel like I live in a different world. And I feel guilty because I have all these supportive people in my life that they don't. It makes me wonder why I'm not getting better."

"Well, I think that you have to accept as a given that you do live in a different world than they do," she replies. "But I also think that when you get to know them better, you will realize that they also come from different worlds from each other. But you are right about one thing. The common denominator among you all is that you are all mothers. And you are all mothers struggling with the same form of depression. You need your own therapy group because your challenges are very different from those of other people with depression."

"Oh," I say.

"Ana," she says gently. "Both Dr. Riley and Shonda said that something was troubling you, but you had not shared it with them. Will you tell me about it?"

I am silent. I had forgotten how perceptive Shonda was. I guess that Carolyn was equally perceptive. I shift in my seat and then decide to tell her.

"A couple of the women in the group were talking about ECT," I say tentatively. "I didn't know that they did that to people anymore. It sounds like something out of a horror movie."

"Well, I don't know if I would go that far," she replies. "It is a form of treatment that some hospitals still use. I was unaware that it was used here. I never really thought to ask about it. Especially since your treatment was going to be at home."

"You wouldn't ever do that to me?" I ask anxiously. "I mean, Carolyn said that it was used when meds didn't work."

"No," she replies firmly. "That is not a treatment that I have ever recommended for any patient. There is a lot of controversy about the efficacy of electroconvulsive therapy. There are several studies that show that it has no long term benefits. But I really don't like the idea of messing with the workings of anyone's brain. Especially since it is not exactly certain of what it does to the brain or how it even may help it."

"Some of the women said that it helped," I say. "They said that it made the drugs work better."

"It can do that in the short term," she answers. "Obviously, if it is administered correctly and the patient has been fully informed of the potential risks, then it may be harmless. However studies have also shown that there was no difference in benefit whether actual shocks sure used or placebo,"

"Do those women know that?"

"I would say that they have been fully informed," she says. "As I said before it is a treatment option that I would never consider. Did they mention any drawbacks?"

"Well, one woman said that it interfered with her memory," I admit.

"Yes, that is a side-effect," she confirms. "However, the same can be said of some of the drugs that are used to treat depression. There are always side-effects to those kinds of treatment. That was why I started with psychotherapy with you first and then added the Wellbutrin when it was clear that you needed something more. And another thing to realize is that we got lucky with that first medication of choice. Not all patients respond equally well to all meds."

"That was another thing that the women were all talking about," I say. "All the different kinds of meds that they were on."

"Well that's pretty normal," she says with a smile. "I mean, how often do women compare different kinds of spa treatments, diets, or exercise regimes. It's part of trying to establish common ground. Did you feel welcome in the group?"

"Yes, I did," I say. "And the time went by much more quickly than I thought it would."

"So then you will be returning tomorrow," she says.

"Yes."

"Ana," she says gently. "Do you want to go home tomorrow? No, maybe I should phrase that better. Do you feel ready to return home?"

She looks at me closely and I lower my eyes.

"I think that if I don't go home, then everyone will be very disappointed," I say.

"Do you think that Christian will be disappointed?" she probes.

I swallow hard and feel the tears coming.

"He told me that it was my choice," I say. "He said that he would support me either way."

"Then why are you on the verge of tears?" she asks.

"Because I'm scared," I say. "I'm afraid of leaving and I'm afraid of staying. I don't want everyone to think that I'm running away if I stay here."

"Don't worry about what anyone else thinks," she advises. "You are the last person who is running away. In fact, since you have been here, you have confronted some very hard issues. This is about you and what is best for you."

"Okay," I say. "Then I think that I will stay another day and then see . . ."

"Ana," she says kindly. "The best that you can do is to take it one day at a time. Now, Shonda told me that she caught you and Christian smooching last night on the couch. Do you want to talk about that?"

I know that now I am turning beet red. Are there no secrets in here? But Charlotte smiles.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed for kissing your husband, Ana," she says. "That is perfectly natural behavior. But I believe that it has been a while since you two have been very, shall we say, physically close."

"Yes, it has," I admit. "But it's not his fault. It's me. I just haven't had the . . . er, interest."

"That is not too surprising when you consider how sick you have been," she says. "But I am curious. What changed last night?"

"I'm not sure," I reply. "I had been feeling a bit better all day. And it was really sweet the way that he put the pictures on the iPad and then arranged for me to have a video visit with the kids. Then when he kissed me, I just wanted to kiss him back."

"I'm glad that you feel that way," she says. "It's another step forward in your progress. Sex is a part of marriage and it is important to maintain that connection if you can."

"Well, yeah," I say. "But you know, about that connection, it's kind of hard to maintain it when I'm in here and we don't have any privacy. If you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean," she says as if she is trying to keep a straight face. "Would you like me to talk to Shonda?"

"Um, yes please."

"I'll take care of it before I leave," she replies. "There's no reason why, for all the money that he's paying for this private suite, he can't enjoy it a little more."

"Uh, thanks," I answer.

I am glad when that discussion is over. I mean, I don't know if I'm ready for that, but if we can't close the door and be alone, then I'll never know. I guess that I just need to see what can happen if we don't have to worry about anyone barging in. Suddenly there is a knock on the door.

"Ana," says Shonda as she walks in. "A messenger just delivered these for you."

In her hands is a small, white basket filled with white roses and pink tea roses. It is lovely and I know who sent them before I even open the card.

"To my sleeping beauty.

Looking forward to more kisses.

Love,

Your Prince Charming."


	40. Distraction

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 34: Distraction**

I can hear Mia before I see her. Charlotte has just left and I am getting ready to see her and Ethan. I am changing out of my Walmart specials and into a more comfortable sweat suit. I also don't want to hear it from Mia if she sees me wearing anything less than a _haut couture _label. I can't make out the words, either the high-pitched squealing or Shonda's deeper, more mellifluous response. But I can tell that she likes Mia because she isn't scolding. There is a knock on the door.

"Ana," calls Shonda. "Are you ready to see your family?"

"Send them in," I reply, as I slip on my flats.

The next thing I know, I am being squeezed tight by my pint-sized sister-in-law in killer black Louboutins and a red leather mini-dress. Her attire is more appropriate for a dance club than a hospital visit, but maybe she is planning to go out later. I look over her shoulder and see my best friend's brother, a glorious, golden-haired Adonis in his own right, grinning at me. The next thing I know, Mia is grasping me by the forearms and looking at me critically.

"Ana," she scolds. "_You_ are in desperate need of a makeover."

"Mmm, hmm," says a voice from behind her. "Oh, yes. That's gonna cure all her problems. All's she needs is a cut, perm, and new coat of nail polish."

"Speaking of which," continues Mia picking up my hand, ignoring the remark. "A mani and a pedi. Ana, you have really let yourself go. And what are we going to do with this hair?"

"Lawd a mercy," interrupts Shonda. "Why Miss Ana what am I gonna do with you? When was the last time you had one of them kiwi mango facial scrubs?"

"Ana," says Mia forcefully, unable to pretend that Shonda isn't there. _"How do _you stand this woman?"

I release myself from Mia's blood-red claws and put my arm around Shonda.

"Right now, Mia," I respond. "This _woman, _as you call her, is my reality check. I don't know what I would do without her."

Mia pouts the classic Mia, soon to be Kavanagh, Grey pout and looks at Ethan.

"Aren't you going to say anything in my defense?"

Ethan smirks back at her and says, "Go team!"

I look at Ethan in astonishment. Now when did he start smirking like Carrick and Christian? Maybe it's an issue of proximity. But to whom? The Grey men or his fiancée? He notices me looking at him and shrugs one of those "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em shrugs." Living with Mia part-time has certainly raised his threshold of tolerance for her exuberance and impracticality. Hopefully, he will be ready for the full-time experience in a year.

Mia walks into the spacious room and looks around.

"Not bad for a hospital room," she comments, nodding. "It's not Ritz, but it's better than most rooms. Oh! What a sweet, little basket of roses! Who sent that?"

"Christian," I say. "Aren't they lovely?"

She wrinkles her nose.

"I'm going to have to talk to him about this," she answers. "He certainly could have done much better than this. At least two dozen long-stemmed roses would have been perfect."

"I love what he sent," I say quietly. _"They_ are perfect."

Giving her black hair a toss she says, "Whatever makes you happy."

Not wanting the subject to turn to me too quickly (since I know that it's unavoidable), I ask her about the wedding.

"Well," she says. "June might have been a possibility, but Ethan is insisting that I finish my degree in May. And I must have a good six months of full-time planning if everything is going to be perfect."

"You mean after you graduate, you're not going to work right away?" I ask, feeling like I am very much out of the loop.

"Well, no," she replies, looking shocked. "How can I possibly work and plan the wedding at the same time?"

Shonda, who has followed them into the room, lifts her eyebrows at me, but I shake my head. Mia is not easily explained to anyone. And considering everything that I have heard about her plans so far, perhaps she will need that much time. Shonda rolls her eyes and leaves.

However, despite the fact that I have no burning interest in said plans, I know that if I let her talk about them, it will spare me the burden of having to impart any personal information.

"You're right, Mia," I agree, just a wee bit sarcastically. "How _could _that be possible?"

She gives Ethan a smug look, but he has to quickly look away. He picked up my tone of voice and no doubt agrees with my somewhat catty assessment. After a beat he picks it up.

"Mia, if anyone could do it, you could," he says. "But then, how could you enjoy your own wedding?"

"Of course I wouldn't," she says quickly, and then turns to me. "I have the most stunning idea for the bridesmaids' dresses. One of the advantages of a winter wedding is that you can go for deep, rich colors. I have decided to go with a deep, emerald green. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds wonderful," I answer truthfully. "Any particular style?"

"I'm waiting to see what Vera designs for the dress," she says.

I look back at her stunned.

"Vera Wang?"

Now she rolls her eyes.

"How many Veras are there designing wedding dresses?"

"No, that's not what I meant," I clarify my question. "Vera Wang is personally _designing_ your dress?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" she asks. "I mean, I just love her dresses, they are just so elegant. But if you think that there is a better designer out there that I should consider . . ."

"Mia, it's not that," I say, still in shock. "It's the idea that world-famous designer will be creating an original dress for you. That must be costing you a fortune."

"Oh, it's not costing her a fortune," states Ethan coolly. "It's costing you, or rather your husband, a fortune."

"I guess that it is," I say. "So how many bridesmaids are you up to?"

"Twelve," she says. "There _would _be two more, but my brothers are refusing to be groomsmen. And Kate has decided on behalf of _both _of you, that you will not be in the wedding party unless they are."

"Thank you, Kate," I say under my breath, thinking that maybe I should see her soon. I certainly owe her one.

"But I did win her over on the issue of the ring bearer and flower girls," she gloats. "Oh, Ava and Phoebe will look adorable. And I know that Teddy will look so handsome."

I look at her incredulously. My estimation of Kate's good sense just took a dive.

"Actually," adds Ethan. "It was Christian who convinced Kate. Some about W.C. Fields."

The remark seems to go over Mia's head. She has warmed to her topic and is now sharing all of the different possible scenarios. She is thinking a renting a ballroom at the Fairmont and then a couple of floors for people to stay the night so they can enjoy the party and not worry about drinking and driving.

"A couple of floors?"

"There will probably be over three hundred people there," she says. "I had thought of a destination wedding to Hawaii or something, but Christian said that if I wanted a wedding outside of the area that I was limited to two hundred people."

"It's the only limit that he's put on," comments Ethan.

"What about you, Ethan?" I ask. "Don't you have any limitations that you want to put on it?"

"No," he says easily. "This is Mia's show. I've made her wait long enough to have really spent a lot of time dreaming all this up. I have no one to blame but myself if she goes overboard."

"And you know that you'll have a lot of fun anyway," says Mia. "And just think! The more guests we invite, the more gifts that we get!"

"Mia!" Ethan and I chorus.

"You have no idea how difficult it has been trying to set up the gift registry," she says defensively. "I had no idea if all the things that you needed to have to set up a proper house. You know, silver, china, best, second best, linens. The list is _endless. _And then I will have to try to keep track of it all. I have told Ethan that we are going to need someone like Gail Taylor to run the house. _Especially _if he thinks that I am going to work."

"You know Mia," I say. "I don't know why you talk about work as if it's a bad thing. I thought that you had some pretty great career ideas for yourself between restaurants and catering, boutiques and spas, all those kinds of services that you are so talented at using."

"Well, yes," she admits. "I know that they would be fun. But after all, I am getting a business degree. And running a business is hard work not fun work. I don't know if I'm ready to settle down yet."

"Then why don't we start by having our kids young?" suggests Ethan.

Mia's face is a study in horror.

"_Me! Have a baby?"_

"Why not?" he shrugs. "You did agree to have children."

"But I'm so _young,"_ she cries. "Why do I want to stop living at my age?"

"You're the same age as Ana and Kate," he says evenly.

"But Ana's different," she says. "I mean, I've always thought that Ana and Kate were, well, kind of older than me. You know, because they're so . . ."

"Responsible?" he teases. "But seriously Mia, I'm just saying that you will go out of your mind after we get married if you don't have a job or children to keep you busy. I'm going to be working full-time then. Probably as many hours as Elliot and Christian do. What do you think, Ana?"

"I'm still thinking about the fact that Mia thinks that I am so much older than her," I reply, feeling bemused. "We'll both be twenty-six by next December."

"Don't say that!" she screeches. "That's just not possible."

Suddenly the door opens and Shonda reenters the room.

"Young lady," she says sternly to Mia. "I want you to lower that voice of yours. This is a hospital where you're at. You want to feel younger? I'll turn you over my knee and give you a good old spanking like Teddy deserves but never gets. You right about people not thinking that you're twenty-five. You acting more like you're five."

Mia looks stunned by the outburst, and then gets annoyed.

"Were you eavesdropping on our private conversation?" she asks.

"Eavesdropping nothing," she replies. "Here I am out there minding my own business and reading my _Ebony _magazine and I hear you shrieking like a banshee about wedding nonsense and age. You don't want me to hear? Keep your voice down."

"Ana!" says Mia. "How do you stand her? Is she like this to everyone? "

I shake my head.

"Only you, Mia," I laugh. "And Teddy. But he loves it. He knows his Auntie Shonda is all bark and no bite."

"Oh," says Mia uncertainly.

We are saved from any further discussion when Grace walks in. When she greets Shonda, I suspect that she caught the last bit of the exchange.

"Shonda, dear," she says warmly. "How are you? And Ana, you look better since this morning. Ethan, dear . . ."

She offers him her cheek, which he gallantly kisses. Then she turns to Mia.

"So, Mia," she says. "Doesn't Ana look well?"

"I was just telling Ana that she needs a makeover," she replies. "Look at how shaggy her hair is."

"You make her sound like she is a sheep dog or something," she says. "Think that Ana's hair is lovely. Especially now, when it's so thick and natural."

Mia looks displeased. She has realized that her mother is telling her to control herself. In the past couple of years everyone in the family has been encouraging Mia to grow up and act her age. She has been fighting back tooth and nail. It was actually Carrick who laid down the law with all of us. He felt that giving her a free pass by saying "she has a good heart" or "she means well" was just enabling the behavior.

"Well," she says with little head toss. "I'm glad that I got to see you anyway. Kate has been dying to come. I'm sure that she will want to know everything."

Ethan looks a bit exasperated at the comment about his sister.

"Since you've done most of the talking," he says. "There isn't much to tell. But we need to get going if we are going to meet Lily and Rod for dinner."

"Lily is going to be my maid of honor," announces Mia. "Ana it was so good to see you again."

With a big hug, she takes off for the door. Ethan turns to me quietly.

"Do you mind if I visit on my own?" he asks. "I would really like to talk to you, but as long as Mia is with me, we won't get a word in edgewise."

"Ethan, are you really sure about this? The marriage, I mean?" I ask in a low voice. "I doubt that Mia is going to change much."

Ethan gives me this kind of goofy, head over heels, grin.

"I don't want her to," he says. "I love her the way that she is, but that doesn't mean that we have to be together every single second. And I really want to talk to you about how you really are and what your treatment has been. I think that it's probably better if we don't include Mia in that conversation."

"That makes sense," I reply. "And there's no accounting for taste in love, you know? When it happens, it happens."

"Very true," he says. "But I would like to talk to you about something else. I hope that it won't bother you."

"What is it?" I ask feeling a little anxious.

"Well, I wanted to advocate a little for my sister," he says carefully. "Kate really feels bad that you won't see her. I mean, she understood it when Grace told her that she didn't want her to go in and start to boss you around. So she said that she would cool it. But now she feels bad because you don't want to see her because, you know, she's a happy Mom with no postpartum issues. She really gets how hard it is for you to see that, but at same time, she misses you."

"I miss her too," I sigh. "But I'm just scared of how I will react. I don't want to hurt her feelings by getting upset and telling her that she has to leave."

"Look," he says. "Suppose I talk to her and tell her that that is a possibility. If she's ready for that happening, then she would be able to handle it without feeling hurt. Of course you would have to call off that pit bull of a nurse that you have out there."

"Shonda is very protective," I shrug. "I suppose that it doesn't bother me so much since I live with the most overprotective, control freak husband in the world. But if I tell her to chill out, then she'll listen. You can blame Grace for her reaction to Mia this evening. Grace has been telling her all kinds of Mia stories. But she gets away with it because she's her Mom."

"Ethan!" calls Mia. "We really must be going!"

"Yes, dear," he says indulgently, and then turns to whisper to me, "Not a thing!"

I give him a smile back. Ethan's calm and patient personality is just what Mia needs to rein in her own flamboyant, not to mention extravagant, tendencies. After Christian made the rather reckless promise to give Mia the wedding of her dreams, Ethan made it clear that there wasn't going to be a wedding unless Mia could learn to live within the budget that he would provide once they got married. When she protested, he argued that Elliot and Kate weren't living on Christian's money and neither should they. After Mia had sulked for several days and refused to take his calls, Elliot spoke to her.

He told her that a man likes to provide for his own family and that by doing so, it gives him dignity and a feeling of independence. Christian is very generous with everyone as it is, but unless she decides to marry a multi-billionaire like her brother, she is going to have to make due with things as they are. And it isn't like they are going to be poor. Ethan had the money to buy into a very good practice and they both have trust funds. Besides, no one is forcing her to marry Ethan.

Once she realized that, everything went a lot more smoothly. Carrick pointed out to her that one of the major causes of separation and divorce was disagreement over money. Loving someone is all well and good, but building a strong marriage requires compatibility in terms of many things, including life style.

After they leave, Grace turns to me and takes me in her arms.

"I heard that things went well in group today," she comments.

"I think so," I reply. "You know that I am going back tomorrow."

"Yes, I do," she says. "And I know that you will be spending another night in the hospital."

"Yes," I reply. "Do you think that it's okay?"

"I think that it's fine," she soothes me. "Now stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. It seems to me that you're making good progress in here. That's the most important thing. Now what were you and Ethan whispering about?"

"He asked if he could come back without Mia," I answer. "So tat we could really talk. And then I asked him if he was sure about the marriage thing. And he said yes. And he also asked if I would let Kate come to see me."

"What did you say to that?"

"I gave him a kind of maybe," I admit. "You see, I don't want to hurt her feelings again. But I don't exactly know how I will react. I mean, that time that she came to the house, I really lost it. I'm afraid that the same thing will happen."

Grace looks at me closely.

"I don't think so," she answers slowly. "You're stronger now. And you've worked through a few more things. Maybe you could talk it through with Charlotte. I think that it would be another step forward to reconnect with Kate. But the timing is up to you. And if Kate knows what she might be up against, she would be okay. We're talking about Kate Kavanagh you know. She's a tough lady."

"I know," I say. "I'll talk to Charlotte about it and see. Maybe if she comes here it won't be so bad. You know, I hate to admit it, but I feel kind of safe here."

"You didn't feel as safe at home?"

"Not entirely," I reply. "I was always afraid that I might mess up and something like what happened a couple of days would happen there. Here I know that it would take a lot of effort to really hurt myself. It would be harder to do by mistake."

There is knock on the door.

"Ana, Dr. Grace," calls Shonda. "Your dinner is here."

"Smells good," says Grace, as Shonda brings the box in. "Fish?"

"Salmon," I reply. "I was in the mood for something like. With brown ice and string beans and almonds. I told them to keep it simple."

"I have a message for you from Mr. Christian," says Shonda. "He will be here in about an hour and will set things up so that you can see the kids on that iPad. And Teddy wants to see Mr. Sawyer and me to make sure that we are still here with you."

"Great," I answer. "I'm looking forward to seeing them. And to seeing Christian."

"Yes, I know," she says suggestively. "And I have been instructed to leave you two alone. However, I feel the need to ask if you are planning on taking any preventative measures."

"For what?" I ask innocently.

Both Shonda and Grace look at me with that "who do you think that you're kidding?" look. But honestly, I hadn't thought of that.

"I . . . um, used the Depo shot before, but I haven't had one in a while," I reply. "And I know that they take seven days to take effect."

"How bad do you want to keep yourself from getting pregnant?" she asks bluntly. "I could get you a supply of condoms?"

"Uh . . . yeah, of course Christian might come prepared," I reply, feeling mortified that I am having this discussion in front of my mother-in-law.

"You can stop blushing, Ana," says Grace kindly. "As a doctor, I certainly know he things are between husbands and wives. And, after all, Teddy and Phoebe didn't show up by immaculate conception."

"No," I say. "They were actually pretty easy. Dr. Greene told me that I was . . . uh, very fertile."

"Which is nothing to be embarrassed about," she comments pointedly. "There are many women. Who wish that they were in your position."

Remembering that she had had to adopt her three children, I begin to feel a little confused that she would even mention something that must be so painful for her. But she doesn't seem bothered at all.

"Ana, you're very lucky," she says. "But you should also be careful. Now that you are showing some interest, shall we say, in that aspect of marriage, you should see Dr. Greene. For now you will need to make due."

"Uh, yes," I say quickly.

Dinner is delicious and once we get beyond the topic of my not-so-private-anymore sex life, conversation is easier. I'm still not talking much, but I do like hearing about Grace's patients. I am also not interested in talking about group again, knowing that I will have to tell Christian a few things about it. Naturally Grace senses that I don't want to discuss it and doesn't even mention it.

But after a while, I find myself looking at the clock and looking at the door. I haven't seen Christian since this morning and I miss him. Tomorrow, I will have to insist that he call me a couple of times so that I can hear his voice. But just as I am thinking that, I _do _hear his voice and the next thing I know, I am standing and approaching the door. I am waiting for him as he walks in and he takes me in his arms and holds me tight.

"Hey, beautiful," he says with a catch in his voice. "I've missed you."


	41. Sweet Dreams

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**Chapter 35: Sweet Dreams**

The sight of Ana waiting for me as I open the door nearly brings tears to my eyes. For the first time in months, she actually looks . . . alive. More than that, she looks like my Ana. Oh yes, she is too thin and pale. And she has dark circles under her eyes and her hair is dried out. But still, there is a light in her eye that I feel like I haven't seen in months. There is nothing else for it. I take her tightly into my arms.

"Hey, beautiful, I've missed you."

She immediately snuggles into my chest, but doesn't say anything. I look over her head and see Mother gazing in approval. Yet as I hold her in my arms, I can still feel the very real fragility, both physical and emotional, that defines my dear wife. I know that although she is on the mend, she still has a long journey ahead of her. And I while I may no longer have to treat her as if she were made of delicate glass, her mental state is still barely that of porcelain china.

When she turns her face up towards, I respond to her invitation and softly kiss her lips, being careful not to exert too much pressure, instead, matching her enthusiasm. When she is ready, she releases me, and once again rests easily in my arms.

"I have also missed you today," she sighs. "Tomorrow, you should call me at last twice."

"You can call me anytime you like," I reply. "In fact you could have called me today."

"But I didn't want to interrupt you if you were doing something important," she says uncertainly.

I tip her chin up so that I can look into her eyes.

"There is nothing that is more important to me than you," I say firmly. "Andrea is under orders to put your calls directly through to me no matter where I am or what I am doing, if I don't answer my cell phone right away. But you know, maybe I should get another cell phone with a number that only you have. Then you will always be able to reach me."

For a minute, she looks surprised, but then she smiles.

"Once a control freak, always a control freak," she replies.

"You got that right," I say grinning.

_"My _control freak."

"Always," I answer. "So tell me about your day. Or at least, you can start to. I'm going to be connecting the iPad to home in about a half-hour so that we can talk to the kids. Teddy still needed his bath and I told him, no bath, no talk with Mommy. Gail will call me when he's ready."

"Why don't I leave you two alone?" asks Mother.

"Oh, no please stay," says Ana. "I haven't seen much of you today either."

"Okay," she says amiably. "Why don't you start by telling Christian about your visit with Mia?"

"Oh yes," I say. "How did that go?"

Shonda walks in with fresh linens to make up the extra bed, an unsubtle hint I expect, that my proper place to sleep tonight is _there. _But Charlotte has told her to give us some space, so I hope that she listens. She exchanges a look with Ana and they both laugh.

"I don't know what got into Mia," says Ana. "She was being more, I don't know, 'Mia' than usual. Even for her, she was pretty high-strung. I guess that I haven't seen her in so long that I forgot what she was like."

"She was pretty wound up," agrees Mother. "She was going on about the wedding and Kate and just about anything else that came into her head. I think that it was a good thing that she an Ethan had a dinner date so that the visit had a definite ending point."

"So do I," puts in Shonda. "But more for her sake than yours."

"What do you mean?" asks Ana.

"Well, honey," says Shonda. "I seen a lot of visitors up in the psych ward in my day. There are a couple of different ways they react. Most folks are quiet because they are afraid to say something that might upset the patient. But Missy Mia, she was scared too, that's why she was rambling on and getting all worked up."

"Can you explain that?" asks Mother curiously.

"Well," continues Shonda. "I think that she knew that she was being silly talking about all that spa stuff, but that's because she doesn't want to think about how sick Ana really might be. And she was talking about the wedding so that you wouldn't have a chance to talk about how sick you are. She was nervous as hell and seems like the type that can't stand awkward silences."

"That she is," I agree heartily.

"And all that stuff about Kate," adds Shonda. "That's because I think that she's mad because she wouldn't be some bridesmaid or bridesmatron or whatever the hell you two would be in that three-ring circus of a wedding."

"She can be a little catty," says Mother thoughtfully. "It didn't occur to me how stressful the visit would be for her. Especially since she has been begging to see you since you got sick."

"Then, I guess I'm sorry that I let her come," says Ana. "I wasn't really thinking about the effect on her. I guess that's why Ethan wants to come back to visit without her."

"He does?" I ask, feeling surprised for some reason.

"Well, he said he was interested in my treatments, in a professional way I guess," answers Ana. "He also asked me if I would see Kate."

"He did?" I say, with an edge in my voice.

"Well, I have been thinking of seeing her," Ana admits. "It's just that I am afraid that I will react the same was as I did before. Grace and I were talking about it right before you came in."

"What do you think, Mother?" I ask.

"I think that it's up to Ana and whether or not she wants to see Kate," she replies non-judgmentally. "Ana did say that she missed Kate. She is afraid of hurting her feelings if she has another episode, but my feeling, and Ethan's, is that Kate is up to taking the risk."

"Ana," I say seriously. "I am just concerned that seeing Kate could trigger a setback."

"Oh, I don't think so," interrupts Shonda.

We all look at her. I had forgotten that she was still there. She quickly explains.

"If I thought that Ana would be so upset by seeing Mrs. Kate that it would be a setback," she says. "Then I wouldn't agree. Now it is possible that she might have a panic attack, but we could take care of her right away. As an experiment, it might not work, but it wouldn't change her progress."

"And it could be a step forward, if it works," concludes Mother.

"Well, Ana, then I will leave it up to you," I agree reluctantly. "After all, you did survive the Mia assault intact. And I am sure that Kate would be in better control of herself."

"I know that she would," says Mother.

"I will think about it," replies Ana. "Grace said that I should talk to Charlotte about it."

"And of course I'm right," says Mother brightly

"So you've decided to spend an extra night here," I say to change the subject.

"Yes," she replies. "Is that okay?"

"Baby, I told you," I say. "It is entirely up to you whether you stay or go. The seventy-two hour hold is up tomorrow afternoon. After that, the decision is yours. The admitting physician has agreed to let Flynn manage your care once that time is up. And Flynn will do whatever you want, unless of course you have a serious relapse."

"What about Charlotte?" I ask.

"Charlotte doesn't have admitting privileges here," says Mother. "However, John has agreed to abide by her recommendations."

"And the hospital has no great desire to kick you out if these very expensive accommodations," I add. "There will be no pressure there."

Ana looks a little confused.

"Don't you worry about all that," soothes Shonda. "One day at a time, remember?"

Ana nods and she leaves. As soon as she is out the door, a trainwhistle sounds loudly from my breast pocket. Ana jumps, clearly startled. I laugh.

"That's my ring tone for Gail," I say, as I pull out my phone. "It means that she is calling about Teddy."

Ana smiles hesitantly and Mother leads her over to the couch. She seems a little overwhelmed by everything going on around her.

"Sure Gail," I say. "We'll call back in a minute."

I turn off the phone and pick up the iPad from the table. Then I sit beside Ana on the couch. She immediately huddles against me.

"Mother, could you please get Sawyer and Shonda for me?" I ask.

"Are you ready, Ana?" I ask quietly. "We can make it a short call if you like."

"Okay, yeah, we'll see," she says quietly.

I tighten my arm around her, turn the iPad towards her, and tap on the tablet. Teddy's face comes up right away.

"Mommy!" says Teddy. "How you doing? Miss Teddy and Fee-bee?"

"Yes, I do," says Ana a little too cheerfully. "Where's Phoebe?"

"Poo-pee diaper!" he answers gleefully. "Look! Twains!"

He turns and points behind him so that we can now see that trains going around the track. Ana smiles.

"That's great, Teddy," she says.

"Home soon?" he asks.

"Soon," she says a little wistfully.

"Where Auntie Shonda and Sawyer?" he then asks.

"I'm right here, little man," says Shonda, as I tip the tablet towards her.

"Take care Mommy, now, wight?" he asks seriously.

"Yes, sir!" she replies.

"Good job!" he says. "Where Sawyer?"

"Here I am Ted!" he replies as I pass him the iPad.

"Take care Mommy, wight?" he asks again.

"Yes, sir," answers Sawyer smartly. "You can count on me!"

"Good job," he replies. "Now see Mommy."

Silently laughing, Sawyer hands the iPad back to me and I turn it back to Ana.

"Mommy get well soon, wight?"

"Yes, I will," replies Ana softly.

I see tears in her eyes, but then Teddy squeals.

"Fee-bee!"

Gail comes into view, holding the baby in front of the iPad for us to see. Phoebe looks at it curiously, but we know that a child that young can't really see the screen. However, she must be in a good mood because she is blowing bubbles for her mouth.

"Wasberries!" cried Teddy from behind her.

Phoebe coos a little and reaches towards the screen. Ana instinctively reaches back.

"I wish that I could touch her," she says quietly with a sigh.

"Since you are going to be staying an extra night," says Mother. "Maybe we could bring them. We would just need to do a better job of preparing Teddy."

Phoebe leaves our sight and Teddy's face takes her place again.

"Teddy be good, Mommy," he says proudly. "My Fee-bee sweep with _me!"_

"We decided that since I was staying here," I explain. "It was better than having her sleep in our room by herself."

"No wowwy, Mommy," Teddy says earnestly. "Give Fee-bee back, when you home. Okay?"

"Okay," replies Ana, but I can see the confusion crossing her face again.

"That's all for now, Ted," I say. "Have a good night."

"Night, Mommy," answers Teddy.

"Goodnight, Teddy," answers Ana.

When I turn off the iPad, she rests back against me and I can see the tears flowing.

"She's all right, Christian," says Mother gently. "She's had a long day and she needs a rest. Why don't I leave now?"

Ana looks up at her and nods. Mother taps her cheek and gives her a kiss on the head. After kissing my cheek, she leaves the room quietly.

"I'll tell Shonda that it's time to give you two some privacy," she whispers.

I smile back at her thoughtfulness and then turn my attention to Ana. Her eyes are glistening with tears and she looks very tired.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?" I ask.

"Here I have been on my best behavior for everyone else, and you come and I collapse," she says sadly. "It's not fair. You deserve better."

"No, Ana," I reply gently. "I had a meeting with Flynn today and he warned me that this could happen. All day long you've been working hard to put on your best face for everyone. But you know that I love you and don't expect you to put on any show. It's really quite a compliment that you are willing to show your true face to me."

"It is?" she says weakly.

"It is," I say firmly. "I want you to feel that when I am here you can lay all your cares on me. You don't have to carry them all alone. We'll do it together."

"I guess," she replies, clearly still uncertain.

"How was your group meeting today?" I ask. "I know that you want to go back tomorrow."

"It was okay," she says carefully. "And yes I do. But I still feel guilty."

"And what are you feeling guilty about now?" I ask, with a sigh.

"I don't always feel guilty about things," she replies defensively.

I give her my best incredulous look. If you look up the word "guilty" in the dictionary, I bet that you would find her picture next to it.

"All right," she admits grudgingly. "I do feel guilty about a lot of things, especially when I realize that I am so much better off than other people."

"If this is about feeling guilty because you are financially better off than 99.99% of the population," I answer. "Then you are forgetting that you have an illness that all the money in the world won't cure. Granted, you may be more comfortably off than those other women, but you have your own set of challenges."

"I know," she says. "But they have problems with husbands and extended family and their children. And I don't have that."

"But you could," I challenge her. "Now I can understand how you might feel guilty about this platinum-plated medical treatment that you are getting, those other things are not things that can be bought with money and you know."

"I'm just afraid that when it's my turn to talk then the women won't like me," she frets.

"Because your husband adores you?" I ask. "Or your mother-in-law loves you? Or you have excellent childcare? Honey, those are not socio-economic differences. Just think about it. Suppose Mother was an old nag who blamed you for getting sick? Mother doesn't support you because she's wealthy. She supports you because she's the sweetest, kindest person that you know."

"I guess you're right," she sighs. "I am just so tired now, it's hard to think about anything clearly and logically."

"Now I understand that Charlotte has interceded on our behalf with Shonda and we will have some privacy tonight," I say. "Why don't you get ready for bed? I promise that I will expect no more clear or logical thinking."

The thought of that seems to affect her positively. With a little smile, she stands up and turns away from me. As I watch her, I wonder about her reaction. How much is she expecting from our private time? I have spent the last couple of hours trying to convince myself that I should expect nothing, but still. Ana has been throwing out signals that indicate that she might be open to some "suggestive suggestions." As if she has just read my mind, she gives me an almost mischievous smile as she heads off.

While Ana is in the bathroom, I pull out the USB adapter for the iPad and a flash drive. Once I have them hooked up, I begin to transfer the MP3 files into the iTunes file. I am impatient because it looks like it will take a few minutes, but I am glad to hear the shower running. I notice the flowers that I sent on the table and move them to the nightstand. Then I set picture of the children next to it and a candle that I brought to set the mood.

The shower stops and I smile when I see that the files are done loading. Then the hair dryer starts. I take the iPad and hook it up to the little Bose speaker that I bought earlier today. Then I change into my own nightclothes. I took the opportunity at home to shower.

I stand in front of the nightstand, suddenly feeling anxious. In my hand is a foil packet, another reminder of our early courtship days, before she was on birth control. I didn't want to put pressure on her. But I don't want things to get out if hand with no protection. So I decide to leave it there, next to the candle. It would be her choice whether or not we would need it anyway. I light the candle, lower the lights in the room, and sit on the couch to wait for Ana's return.

As she walks out of the bathroom, I click the remote for the iPad and the sound of the Marcello piece that she lives so much softly fills the room. Her look of exhaustion morphs into one of peaceful gratitude as she looks around. Dropping her things on the table, she walks over to the nightstand to look at the pictures and sniffs the scented candle. She picks up the foil packet and examines it, but since her back is turned, I can't read her face.

"Rose," she says. "My favorite. And the piano piece, if I didn't know better, I would swear that it was you playing it."

"I am playing it," I answer. "I made a digital recording for you of this one and a few of your other favorites. They are loaded on the iPad."

She looks over and notices the iPad is connected to the Bose. The audio from the iPad itself is not very good unless it is run through headphones or speakers. A little smile finally glimmers on her face.

"You've thought of everything," she says.

"I tried to," I say. "But don't feel any pressure to do anything that you aren't ready for. I am thinking of this as maybe a second courtship. And this time we will take things a little more slowly."

She smiles shyly.

"You've changed so much," she says wonderingly.

"So have you," I say. "And it's not just your illness. We've both grown up a lot over the last three years. I still crave closeness to you, not in the same way. You need to call the shots this time. We go as slowly as you like. And I don't want you to even think of doing something that you are not ready for simply for my sake. I love you and only you. I need you, but my needs only match yours."

She comes over to the couch and reaches out her hand towards me. I grasp it and allow her to pull me up and take her in my arms. She reaches up her arms around my neck and kisses me. I welcome her gently and taste the minty flavor of her toothpaste. It is the same flavor that I have tasted on her breath for the last three years. She seems to melt in my arms, so I pick her up and carry her over the bed where I lay her down.

She is lying before me trembling and I can't tell if it is fear, nerves, or something else. She tentatively reaches her arms towards me, as if she is not sure of what she wants. I slip into bed next to her and take her in my arms, waiting for her next cue. She looks into my eyes with longing and uncertainty.

"Whatever you want," I say gently. "Whatever you're ready for. If you want, I'll just hold you in my arms and watch you sleep. Just like I did the first night that we spent in bed together."

"Is that enough?" she asks nervously.

"Darling, that was one of the happiest nights of my life," I reply. "In fact, it was, in many ways, the beginning of my life. You know how my first concern has always been to protect you? That includes right now."

She smiles and then slowly props herself up and leans over me. Next thing I know, she is kissing me, opening her mouth to invite me in. Without thinking, I can feel myself respond. I lift my hands to grasp her head and drawn her down closer. She makes no effort to pull away, so I let my right hand trail down her back, stroking her gently. She softly moans into my mouth and shifts so that I can move easily over her.

I am careful not to put any weight on her. She feels very frail in my arms. Lying on my left side, I am able to softly trace my fingers from her hairline on the right side, down her jaw and to her neck, stopping at the neckline of her shirt. Her left arm is free and with her left hand, she grasps me by the neck and then feels her way down my shoulder and bicep to my forearm. Then she reaches below my hand and slowly unbuttons her shirt.

Taking advantage of her invitation, I brush the shirt back and cup her breast, which elicits another moan. I feel her shift again below me, this time her hips unconsciously rising as she arches her back. Could it be?

I give myself over to my instincts, following her lead as I said I would and release her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw and neck and her hands undo the buttons on my shirt. I enjoy the soft feel of her skin under mouth as she pushes the shirt off of my shoulders. I am unable to look into her eyes. I am too busy rediscovering the beauty of her body, covering every inch of her shoulders and chest until I find my goal. As my tongue teases the nipple, I hear a more urgent groan as she arches her back again.

At this point, I am rock hard. If I can't take her, then I am going to have to escape for to take the coldest shower of my life. I push myself up and force myself to look into her beautiful, blue eyes, asking permission before I go any farther.

"You," I whisper hoarsely. "Your lead. Take me where you want."

Her eyes glow, but she does not respond. Instead she reaches her hand down to grab me tightly. After a minute, she reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the foil packet. She deftly tears it open with her teeth and rolls it on. I think that I will perish with anticipation. Or explode if she doesn't get on with it.

"You," she whispers. "Now."

"Are you sure?" I ask, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

_"You!" _she presses more urgently. "My choice . . . for me."

And what choice do I have? The miracle of this deepest and most ultimate connection with my wife consumes me. I take her gently, at her speed. She holds back nothing. Yet there is a calming, peacefulness to this lovemaking. There is a sense of profundity that has never existed before. We have reached a new level, not of intense physical passion, but of intense spiritual desire. We are more than two bodies joining together; we are two souls reconnecting to become one.

The release we share is quiet, but filled with joy beyond any that I, hopefully we, have ever shared before. As I ease out of her, I feel more than replete. I feel complete, as I lie on my back inhaling and exhaling deeply, I cuddle her close on my chest. I feel the tears as they overflow her eyes, but I know that they are not tears of sorrow. There was nothing sorrowful in this act. When I have caught my breath, I can finally speak.

"I love you," I say quietly.

"Me too," she says, as if those two words are all she can manage.

I feel exhausted, as I know that she is. As gently as possible, I shift us around so that my arms are around her and her back is flush up against my chest. In the background, I can hear that the iPad is still playing softly. I look over at the nightstand and notice that the candle is still burning. I wet my fingertips and it is so close that all I have to do is reach over to pinch it out.

Despite the movement, Ana is completely undisturbed, already lost within a deep, restful sleep. Her even breathing settles my heart further and I am able fall under the spell of her beauty and the subtle scent of her hair. There is a perfection in this moment that almost frightens me. What will happen when she wakes up? Will she regret that she gave herself to me like this? Did she do it for my sake?

But then, I hear the most precious words in the world. Ana is talking in her sleep.

"I love you, Christian. Christian, don't ever leave me."

She is dreaming of me again!

I smile in contentment and draw her into my arms more closely. It takes all of my self-control not to respond, not to wake her up. Instead, I close my eyes and turn my mind over to my own dreams. And I relax, knowing that they will be sweet dreams.


	42. Awakening

**Fifty Shades of Post-Partum**

**To my readers: I knew that I was treading a fine line between T and M in the last chapter, however, I would prefer not to shift the entire story over to the M category, since there will still be chapters that will be T (if not K+) rated. Instead, when I write any more "sex" chapters, I will write one T rated and another, more explicit one as a series of vignettes as part of story (as yet unnamed) under the M rating. I will of course let readers know when there are two versions and let them choose.**

**Chapter 36: Awakening**

The dim light sneaks beneath the shades and for the third day in a row, I wake up in Ana's hospital room. The first night, I had slept sitting in a chair by her side. On the second night, I slept in the presently unused roll out bed. But last night, the third night, I slept with her in my arms. And, hospital rules be damned, I made love to wife for the first time in months.

In our sleep, we have shifted. Now I am lying on my back and she is huddled on my shoulder, beneath my left arm, leaving my right hand free to stroke her lovely hair. She is sleeping so soundly, that she doesn't move when I touch her. I take a peek over at the clock and sigh. It's 6:30. Time to get up.

Being as careful as I can, I extricate myself from her. She mumbles incomprehensibly as she shifts her position so that she is curled up on her side. I am careful before I step out of bed, knowing that I tossed the used condom overboard last night. There is no way that I want to hear it from Shonda, if she has to clean up _that _mess.

After I shave, shower, and dress, I go out into the other room. Shonda is already up and dressed.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?" she asks politely.

"Yes, I did, and yourself?" I ask.

"Very well, thank you," she replies. "Mr. Sawyer is waiting for your breakfast order."

I look at her sharply. I keep waiting for some smart ass remark about where I slept last night, but I don't get one. She goes back to reading her book and I walk out to talk to Sawyer.

"Good morning, Sawyer," I say. "Did you have a good night?"

"Yes, sir," he answers. "I traded off with Ryan around ten, so that I could be back here by six."

"I know that I was told this before, Luke," I say. "But where do you sleep?"

"There's an empty room around the corner," he answers. "Taylor arranged it. What can I get you for breakfast?"

"The usual," I reply. "I am not sure that Mrs. Grey will be awake before I leave and I don't want anything cooked for her to get cold."

"Yes, sir," he says, and goes off to run his errand.

I return to the suite, but don't have time to say anything to Shonda before we hear Ana call out.

"Christian! Christian! Where are you?"

I am through the door in a second. Ana is sitting up in the bed, her nightshirt slipping off her shoulders and her hair wild around her face.

"I'm here, darling," I say calmly, as I sit down beside her on the bed and take her in my arms.

She clings to me sobbing while I try to sooth her. I look up at Shonda, who has followed me in, but she does not look concerned at all. In a few minutes, Ana has settled own to the point where she can speak.

"I thought that you were gone," she says, as she rests in my arms. "I thought last night was a dream."

Shonda immediately departs to give us some privacy. I wonder what is up with her. Normally, a scene like this would have brought out plenty of her sass.

"It wasn't a dream," I reply. "And proof of that is in the waste basket in the bathroom if you want to check."

Ana blushes.

"I've missed that, not the sex, the blushing," I comment. "And it's not just the pink in your cheeks. You haven't had anything to blush about in a while."

"Neither have you," she answers. "Was it . . . Okay?"

"It was more than okay," I reply. "It was the best."

Now she looks worried.

"You aren't just telling me that to make me feel better, are you?" she asks.

"I would never lie to you," I say as I grasp her shoulders and look into her eyes. "Especially about something like that. But last night was up there with the greatest nights in our relationship. It was beautiful. You are beautiful. You are incredible."

"Oh," she says quietly. "But what if I can't do it again, you know, every night?"

"Your choice, your speed," I reply gently. "That's the way that it is. Last night I came to bed but didn't expect anything. I told you. Just watching you sleep and listening to you talk was more than enough."

"I was talking?" she says nervously. "What was I saying?"

"You said that you love me and asked me never to leave," I answer. "And those were the most wonderful words that you could have said. Because I love you too and I have no intention of going anywhere."

We hear a knock on the door.

"Mr. Christian! Ana!" calls Shonda a little too loudly. "Your breakfast is here!"

"Thank you, Shonda," I reply. "You can bring it in."

She comes in with the usual Fairmont boxes and sets them on the table. Then she turns to us with her hands on her hips.

"Well, don't you look _fine _this morning, Ana," she says cheerfully. "I guess I got to give you and Mr. Christian more privacy like that tonight."

Ana blushes again and I chuckle.

"Come on, Ana," I say. "I want to eat while my omelet is still hot and then I have to go to work."

"Are you really going to get a special cell phone just for me?" she asks.

Shonda looks at me sand hakes her head.

"My, oh, my," she says. "Just when I think that you done run out of ways to spend that old money of yours, I hear a new one. Ain't a special ring tone enough for her?"

"Well, no," I explain. "I need to have one phone dedicated to Ana that I won't put on vibrate or silent during meetings. My number one priority is answering her calls."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," she says, still shaking her head. "That's real good of you to treat Ana so special. I know that she misses you while you're off buying and selling the rest of us."

"Get lost, Shonda!" I growl. "Before my breakfast gets cold!"

"Whatever you say, sir," she says, and walks out.

We sit down and I open up the box and set out the things for us.

"That looks good," she says. "You ordered my favorite."

"Well, I wasn't exactly sure of what you would want," I admit. "But I also wasn't sure of when you would get up. I didn't want to order anything that would cold."

She nods thoughtfully as she adds the granola and blue berries to her yogurt. Then she makes her usual cup of tea. I watch her closely, and despite still looking thin and tired, she seems to be a little brighter.

"What are you planning for your day?" I ask.

"Well," she says. "Charlotte is coming to see me. Then I have group, then lunch, and then a nap. When I wake up, Charlotte will come back. Then, well, maybe I will see Kate."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask. "That is a pretty full schedule followed by a reunion that could be a little . . . challenging for you."

"No," she says. "I want to talk to Charlotte about it first. I'm getting kind of scared about everything."

"Why is that?" I ask. "Do you want more security?"

"No, it's not that kind of scared," she replies. "I just feel like things are starting t move too quickly. You know. Yesterday I went to group and then Mia and Ethan came and then well, you came."

"In more ways than one," I grin, as she swats my arm.

"Really, really bad pun, Christian," she says with a small smile. "But I suppose that I opened the door for it."

"And I walked in, sorry," I answer, but not very repentantly. "And Mother also mentioned possibly bringing the kids here. Ana, I don't want you to feel overwhelmed. I'm not kidding. There is no rush to try and meet everyone's expectations. _Please _don't feel like there is any pressure."

"I don't," she says slowly. "Well, yes I do. I just don't want to let anyone down."

"Ana, please, don't try to start with the self-imposed guilts trips again," I urge. "Do you want me to stay with you today, well, except for group, to help to protect you from yourself? Just say the word and I'm here."

"You don't have to do that, it would just make me feel . . . "

"Guilty," I finish. "Okay, I get it. But you do have to stop thinking about everyone else. Please, we want you to get well and you won't do that if all you do is worry about us."

She looks at me helplessly.

"As long as you want, Ana," I say softly. "As long as you need me."

Then, as she has often done in the past when she is at a loss for words or in need of comfort, she crawls into my lap and curls up. As she snuggles into my chest, I hold her closer and tighter. I can feel her begin to relax, and with that relaxation come the tears. But these are not tears of sorrow. I know these tears. In fact, I have cried them myself. These are tears of release. These are the tears that come when you have finally found a place of safety after living in fear.

I don't know how long we sit here, just her and me. Shonda opens the door a crack and peeks in. Then I hear her talking softly to Taylor. I know that I can count on Taylor to call Andrea to rearrange my schedule. Finally there is a knock on the door and Charlotte walks in.

"Ana," she says quietly. "Do you want me to stay or go and come back later? If you don't return to group this morning, that's okay. Sometimes women need a day to process what happened at their first meeting before they go back. Would you like to take that day and return tomorrow? I can contact Dr. Riley for you."

Ana's face is lost in her thick beautiful hair, but we can both see her nod. This is good. This is progress. Ana is making a decision for herself and not trying to live up to anyone else's expectations, or at least what she thinks the expectations are. Charlotte leaves for several minutes and then returns.

"Ana, would you like it if Christian stays for our session this morning?"

Once again she nods. This is another step in the right direction. She is putting her own needs ahead of what she perceives as my needs. Perhaps she is finally beginning to understand that my needs are her needs. I only want her back and I want her healthy. I will move heaven and earth to get her there.

"Why don't the two of you sit over on the couch so that you will be more comfortable?" Charlotte asks because we are still seated at the breakfast table.

Picking her up, I easily carry her across the room and settle us in. I set her beside me and she instinctively curls up in a protected position under my arm. Ana finally looks up at the doctor as I pull her hair back from her face. Her cheek is resting against my shoulder and she takes a deep sigh. Finally, the tears have stopped flowing. Unconsciously, I press my lips to the top of her head. She then looks up at me and I briefly kiss her lips.

"Did you have a good night?" asks Charlotte pleasantly. "Were you more comfortable with your privacy?"

Ana remains silent and looks up at me.

"I certainly was," I admit. "I have always slept better with Ana in my bed, even in the very beginning."

"Was that a big deal for you?" she asks.

"Before Ana, no woman ever slept in my bed," I reply. "My sex partners all slept in their own room in my apartment."

"Sex partners?" she asks curiously. "They weren't lovers?"

"Ana is the one and only lover I have ever had," I explain. "She was my first girlfriend. She was everything that I ever wanted. And once I realized that, I asked her to marry me and the rest is history."

"Interesting," she says. "Of course, I have heard Ana's description of the events that led up to your marriage. It really is fascinating to hear your perspective."

"Then I suppose you know the kind of relationship that I originally envisioned for us," I say, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"Yes, but I don't judge your lifestyle choice," she replies. "Ana told me all about the infamous 'Mrs. Robinson,' and her effect on your life. And how she tried to break you two up from the beginning."

"Yes," I admit. "I can clearly see now that her intentions towards me were hardly honorable, and in fact very selfish. She reinforced for me the belief that I was unworthy of love, unworthy of Ana. I also doubted that I was able to give Ana that kind of love."

"And you and Ana worked through it and here you are married with two beautiful children," she says.

"But it's not happily ever after," sighs Ana. "I've made sure of that."

"Ana, we have discussed this before," answers Charlotte. "But I think that it would be good for Christian to hear it as well. The idea of 'happily ever after' is nothing more than a myth or fairy tale. Marriage is real life. It continues after the wedding. The wedding is not the ending, but the beginning. And real life is full of sadness and joy, good events and bad, challenges and victories.

"You must view this phase of your life as a challenge to be overcome. You have admitted that you feel very lucky because you have the love of your husband and family. And even after your one group meeting, you are now aware that many women don't have that.

"It's not the money that Christian is lavishing on your treatment that is helping you recover, it is the love of those around. You can't buy the kind of loving care that the Taylors give to your family. You can't buy the level of devotion that Sawyer feels for you. You can't buy the loyalty and love of Grace and the rest of your family. And you could not find a better caretaker than Shonda. She does not just take care of your physical needs, she has become a key part of your treatment."

"Then why am I so much worse today than yesterday?" she asks,

"That is wrong she says steadily. "Since you have been here, you have made great strides in terms of your mental outlook. View today as a day of rest. Athletes can't train at an intense level for many days in a row. Eventually they need a break.

"You have had to think about a lot of things over the past three days. It is healthy to step back and reflect on it and sleep on it. Your brain works hard while you are sleeping to process experiences and form memories. It will help if you take some quiet time for yourself, but only if you accept this quiet time in the right frame of mind."

"I guess so," she replies slowly.

"Ana, don't you remember when we were first dating and you wanted to go to Georgia to visit your mother?" I ask. "If I recall correctly, you were pretty upset with me because I wasn't giving you enough distance from all the intensity. And if I am not mistaken, no sooner were you away from me than you were writing me long emails to express your feelings."

"Really," says Charlotte thoughtfully. "I don't recall you telling me that part of the story."

"I didn't remember it until Christian just mentioned it," states Ana.

"Well, I think that it would be a good idea for you to start journaling about your feelings," she suggests. "If you are most comfortable with the letter format, you could even write letters to various people telling them about how you think that things are going and what you are learning from these experiences. Now I wouldn't expect to read the letters or that you would send them to anyone, unless you wanted to. However, we can work together to synthesize what you are figuring out as you write and then retread them."

"I would like to try that," agrees Ana. "I think that it could really help me."

I can't help but feel pleased that something that I have mentioned has given Ana a new avenue to explore in terms of her treatment. However, I do have one concern that has been nagging at me. Now that the issue of my former lifestyle is out in the open, maybe I should bring it up.

"Charlotte," I say. "There is something about our past relationship that has been worrying me. Is it possible that my attempts to lure Ana into that heavy duty BDSM lifestyle have been a contributing factor in her present illness?"

"I don't really see how," answers Charlotte, to my great relief. "It was a case where Ana knew what she wanted, stood up for herself, and helped you to get past some of your own negative self-assessments. That relationship may have initially traumatized her, but through that experience she gained strength."

"So then it didn't contribute to her depression?" I ask.

"The time that you were separated after the harsh punishment, shall we say, incident caused a pretty deep depression," she replies. "But it was temporary, extremely brief, and it was reciprocal in that you were both miserable. The kinds of experiences that come back to haunt us and contribute to later depression are those that remain unacknowledged and buried."

Ana now stares off into space. Charlotte and I both know that the one time of her life that she has refused to discuss is the time spent with husband number three. Whatever happened, it seems that she and Carla are the only ones who know and Carla is equally reluctant, if not downright refusing, to discuss the issue.

I have had half a mind to send Welch out to case this Steve guy down and demand the story, but Flynn has convinced me that would be counterproductive. There is no guarantee that the guy would tell us the truth and both Ana and Carla might view it as a betrayal. Now Charlotte is offering Ana a chance to open up about it, but she doesn't take the bait.

Instead, she asks if she can take a midmorning nap.

"Do you want me to stay here while you do?" I ask. "I've cleared my schedule until after lunch, but I can stay here in the room and get some work done."

"I would like that," answers Ana. "Even if I'm sleeping, I always feel better when you're around."

"Whatever you want," I reply.

"I'm starting to feel like the control freak," says Ana with a little smile.

Charlotte rolls her eyes.

"Hardly," she quickly replies. "Taking back control of your life and decisions, especially when you answer truthfully to questions asked and offers made, does not imply 'control freak.' Just ask your husband."

I grin and shrug and then Ana shakes her head, "Okay I get it."

"Christian, could I see you outside for a minute?" asks Charlotte.

"Going to talk about me behind my back?" asks Ana.

"No," says Charlotte playfully. "I'm looking for a stock market tip."

Now Ana rolls her eyes, but stands up to go back to bed. Charlotte and I go outside, where Shonda and Dr. Riley are waiting for us.

"Is she taking a break?" asks Shonda right away.

"Yes," replies Charlotte. "At the moment she's kind of wrung out. She has really made a great deal of progress in the last couple of day and is both mentally and physically exhausted. Christian Grey, may I introduce you to Dr. Carolyn Riley?"

We shake hands.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Riley," I say. "Ana was quite pleased with the group session yesterday."

"I understand," she answers sympathetically. "And the other women will too. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get downstairs."

After she leaves, Charlotte turns to me.

"Ana will get past this, as I told her, she is taking a step back, not having a set back," she says. "I think that it is great that you are willing to reorganize you reorganize your schedule so quickly to be where she needs you."

"I had already anticipated this," I explained. "I knew even as my PA was setting up appointments that my schedule might need to be reshuffled. Andrea and my second in command, Ros, both know where my priorities lie."

"That's good," she nods. "After lunch, I will come back and we can talk again. I know that she wants to see Kate, but if she still seems so fragile then we may put that off for a day or two. I don't want her to push herself right now. _That _could create a set back."

"I agree," I say simply. "And thank you for all your help this morning."

"See you later," she replies with a wave and she is gone.

Shonda is sitting at her desk doing some paperwork, so I return to Ana. She is now curled up in the bed, but her eyes are still open. I walk over to sit beside her and take her hand. She gives me a little smile.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"And I could say the same about you," I respond. "You'll see. We will get through this."

"I know," she sighs, and for the first time I think that she actually believes it.

I watch her as she drifts off. Then I pick up my laptop and begin to catch up on my emails. But not before I email Andrea to get one of the cell phones that the company holds in reserve and text me the number so that I can leave it with Ana. Taylor can bring me the phone when he comes to get me. Whenever I leave her side, she will know that she is just a button away from contacting me.

Then, just because I can't stand it anymore, I type an email to Welch and tell him to get everything that he can on Steve Morton, but not to make any direct contact. Hopefully, Ana will open up on her own. But if she doesn't, I will figure out some way of getting to the bottom of this mystery.

**To my readers: This chapter was a little difficult to write. I wanted to dial back a little from the almost miraculous progress that Ana was making, without another crash and burn chapter. I hope that I have successfully walked the fine line between a step back and a set back.**


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